


The Day I Fly Away

by dearcst



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Doctor!Dean, F/M, Kinda, M/M, Mental Hospital, Past Megstiel, Patient!Cas, Schizophrenia, crazy!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1803295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearcst/pseuds/dearcst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Castiel is schizophrenic and loves to play Sorry. Dean is his doctor.<br/>"Tell me yours."<br/>"Mine?"<br/>"Your story."<br/>"I don't like my story."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Day I Fly Away

Part I

 

                The mental ward always was a cold place. The tiles chilled Castiel’s feet as he walked across it, but he could not feel warmth or a chill as he was an angel. All Castiel could hear was the soft tapping of game pieces on the game board while others spoke around him, some yelled, and some laughed. Castiel allowed himself to smile as he picked up another card and moved his game piece up a few places.

                “Castiel,” he heard a woman call his name with a plastic smile, a pitying smile. “You’re being transferred to a new doctor, all right? No freaking out okay?” She spoke as if he would have some break down if he was suddenly in the presence of someone he did not know. Castiel felt indifferent to this.

                Castiel stood where he was, collecting his game pieces and stuffing them into his pocket as he made his way over. He nodded and the woman motioned for him to follow. It was the fifth doctor this month and twelfth this year since he’d been admitted. He tucked a loose curl of his hair behind his ear, some habit he’d always gotten into, and he’d glanced at therapists notes, this was apparently a telltale sign of schizophrenia. Castiel’s mind wandered away from him and he found his eyes losing focus, looking around a new place that wasn’t the hospital he was trapped in; this was one of the only times he was ever free.

                _It’s a secret_ , Balthazar whispered to him. Castiel nodded, “I know,” he said softly. The secret Balthazar was referring to was the secret of demons, angels, and monsters, because if others knew there would be chaos. Something cold ripped through Castiel like a rock when—

                “Castiel?” the nurse snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. “Come on, don’t go zoning out on me already! Doctor Winchester is a nice guy. You’ll like him.”

                Sometimes Castiel wished he had a remote that controlled that girl’s mouth that sputtered like a broken record. _You’ll like her/him. She/he’s nice!_ He heard Balthazar laugh at the nurse and Castiel cracked a smile himself. The nurse opened the door for him and Castiel wandered into a room that was two degrees cooler. He was still barefoot.

                “Hey, you’re Cas right?” a man at the desk asked.

                “Castiel,” said man corrected, “Yes, I am. You are Doctor Winchester?”

                “I know, man, I was just giving you a nickname. Seems cooler right? And Dean’s fine.”

                The doctor gestured to the seat in front of him and Castiel slid into the seat. His hand slipped into his pocket and he played with the red pawn under the table. _Put that away_ , Balthazar said to him, _there’s a man right there. Isn’t that rude?_

                “So,” Dean started, flipping through some papers. “I’ve been told you’re schizophrenic.”

                “They do say that,” Castiel agreed, his voice soft yet with an edge. It’s almost as if he were standing by a cliff with an avalanche warning above him. Don’t be too loud to trigger the rocks, but at the same time, he felt uneasy. That type of voice.

                “But you don’t agree with them?” Dean asked, and Castiel was yanked back to earth by a rope around his neck.

                _Why do they even bother having different doctors? They all say the same things_ , he heard the slow drawl of a girl, a demon that was a kind demon nonetheless. She called herself Meg. “I don’t know,” Castiel muttered back to her and smiled. _Don’t talk to me while there’s a hottie right over there_ , Meg teased. Castiel’s head snapped to his right and he glared at the seemingly empty space.

                Dean looked at Castiel curiously. “Who’s that?” he asked.

                Castiel looked back at him and said, “Who? Meg?”

                Dean smiled, “Yeah her.”

                Castiel glared again, “She’s just joking around, don’t listen to her.”

                “All right,” Dean raised his hands in surrender. He paused for a few minutes before starting again, “You know,” he started softly. “Sometimes I think people like you are special. Like they can see things no one else can. Sort of like a super power.”

                Castiel tilted his head out of habit, as if somehow the sky would open up and pour into him because that’s how he felt at the moment; just empty and needing something to fill him up. Being poison, being magic, being thought, being beings. He felt something stir inside him because no one’s ever said that before. “Special?” he asked and felt Meg nudge his arm.

                “Yeah I mean, I’m boring,” Dean jammed a thumb to his chest. “Everything I can see, you can, too. But you? I can’t see Meg, and you can. I can’t hear her either. What’s she like?”

                Castiel looked at Dean for a while, feeling like a tornado of everything was rushing through the room. His fingers twitched as he wished to turn around just to check.

                “She’s annoying,” he blurted out and Dean laughed. Castiel’s cheeks flushed. “I mean, she can be annoying. She’s always teasing me, but she’s also sweet sometimes.”

                Dean nodded in that doctor-way and Castiel was a bit surprised when Dean didn’t write anything down. The room felt so warm and comfortable, and for the first time someone other than his brothers or Meg had made him smile. Ice skating in summer was treacherous, then why did Castiel love it? Love this feeling of ease between the two of them. Because this ice was melting in everything that was this person and what was this _feeling_? Was it drowning but lifting and flying at the same time, and oh, just one minute of nothingness because Castiel just can’t breathe.

                “Oh cool,” Dean said and leaned his elbows on the desk. “Anyone else I should know about or is there only Meg?”

                Castiel fiddled with the red pawn in his pocket. “Well, there are others of course. I have over two million brothers and sisters.”

                Dean leaned back in his chair, letting out a big breath. “Holy shit, man, how are the family reunions?”

                Castiel laughed and peered up at Dean whom was smiling as well. Something was blazing inside him like an orchestra of every melody on the Earth and in the Heavens. This man was nothing like anyone he’d ever met, and somehow, brighter than the brightest archangel.

                Dean stretched out his arms again before continuing, “So tell me more about your family. The people I can’t see but wish I could.”

                Castiel picked his feet up from the ground and crossed them adolescently in his chair. He found himself telling Dean about Balthazar, the cocky and annoying brother, and about Gabriel, the asshole who always pranked him. He told Dean about Anna, his little sister that ran away from home and is somewhere on Earth now, like him. Dean nodded throughout the whole thing, smiling and never questioning a word or giving him that look that just _screams_ “You’re crazy.”

                Castiel picked the red game piece pawn and put it on top of the desk as he continued to tell stories, like how when he was twelve Gabriel stuck gum in his hair and he had to go to his birthday party like that, and how glad he was when no one noticed or at least showed that they noticed. Dean laughed that beautiful, orchestral laugh and Castiel found himself laughing, too.

                And in some unspoken signal Castiel leaned over on the table and smiled wider than he had in a long time. Dean mirrored him and their eyes prodded at each other in some game of hide and seek except all there was was seeking and never any hiding.

                “Your eyes are _so_ blue.”

                “Your eyes are so _green_.”

                Dean laughed again. “All right then,” and the spell was broken as he sat back. “So, Cas, I think I’ll give you these two ugly things. Take this one every morning and night and the other one after dinner. Okay?”

                Oh right. Dean was his doctor. Castiel nodded and took the pawn back from the table and stuffed it back in his pocket. He grabbed the medicine next and placed them neatly next to each other. Dean flashed him another smile and Castiel felt his soul back in Heaven. Then the door opened and another patient walked in.

                “See ya, Cas,” Dean gave him a small wave before his eyes landed on the other person.

                Castiel turned around the corner, hearing faintly in the background as Dean greeted the next patient. He pulled the game piece out of his pocket and sat down by the wall, placing it in front of him and fishing out other pieces. The game board was memorized, and he picked up a fabricated card and slid the red pawn over a few inches because—an earthquake or was that his heart beating wildly?—that’s what made him _special_.

~~*~~

                “Good morning,” Dean greeted as Castiel sat down again that next morning. “How are you feeling?”

                Castiel shrugged. Dean copied him jestingly.

                With a big sigh Dean leaned over the desk and folded his hands. Their eyes locked and the key was thrown to the sea and Castiel did not go fetch it since he did not like the ocean. Dean’s eyes narrowed as if he was solving the mystery, the puzzle that was Castiel. And just scream from the Heavens because down on earth, Castiel can’t hear him loud enough.

“All right, entertain me now. I’m bored,” Dean proclaimed and his chair rolled back a few inches.

                “Entertain you?” the words felt strange on Castiel’s tongue. This man was his doctor, right? Castiel’s eyes traced around Dean’s face, trying to pick up on any clue that he may not have been serious. He found none.

                Dean took out a piece of paper and clicked his pen loudly. Twice. “I’ll have to mark you down for a hearing check,” he joked, peeking up at him again before crumpling the paper. “Yeah, man, tell me a story or something. I’ve been sitting here all day, I could do without some trivial shit. C’mon.”

                Castiel tilted his head again and Dean did the same as if to say _you do that a lot you know_.  Castiel’s head snapped back upright, fighting the blush that was knocking at his door.

                “There once was a tree… Who loved a little boy…” Castiel started, one of the only stories he really knew. His eyes darted up to Dean to see if he recognized it. Dean didn’t. “And every day the boy would climb up the tree, and swing on her branches, and eat apples, and be happy. The tree loved the boy so much, and the boy loved the tree, and they were happy.”

                “ _The Giving Tree_?” Dean said softly and smiled. “Gotta love Shel Silverstein.”

                “I don’t know any stories, really,” Castiel said, finding no point on continuing _The Giving Tree_ since Dean had already known it.

                “Tell me yours.”

                “Mine?”

                “Your story.”

                Castiel played with the red pawn under the desk.

 

                “ _It’s all your fault! I hate you! I hate you! I’ll kill you!”  
                “I’m sorry!”_

_“No you aren’t!”_

                “I don’t like my story,” Castiel shook his head and twirled the game piece.

                “Well you can’t blame me for being curious,” Dean said and leaned on one arm.

 

                _Castiel held his soaking shirt over his stomach and cried silently, locked in the closet of his bedroom as he heard angry shouts from outside. The door shook and rattled and Castiel hugged his knees for some sort of comfort. The world felt like it was shaking and Castiel had never been more afraid—only, please, only would he behave. He yanked another shirt down from the closet and hid his face in it. He wanted to disappear._

_“Come out here, bitch!”_

                “I don’t like my story at all,” Castiel insisted, his voice becoming frantic and his hands starting to shake.

                Dean seemed to back off after that. He nodded, “All right, okay,” he gave up, “What about I tell you my story?”

                Castiel seemed to calm down at the shift in attention. He felt something drop over them, something chilling and cold, but the refreshing kind of cold. Like iced lemonade rather than being locked outside in the snow.

                Castiel nodded eagerly.  
                “Okay, okay,” Dean grinned and clapped his hands. “Let’s see… I have a brother, Sam. He’s awesome. We go out and hang every once and a while. He has a girlfriend and everything. I live alone, but I like the solitude. Gotta think y’know? Anyways, I got to admit my life was pretty blessed, and I’m lucky to be where I am. Worst thing I can think of that happened was that my mom almost died in a house fire, but the fire department came on time and we all go out safe. I always like helping people, did a lot of tutoring in school. I guess that’s where this whole doctor place came from, but I don’t really like to see people die so I didn’t want to be that person behind the medical table and see the flat line… Wow I just got depressing,” Dean laughed, “Anyways, I like helping out people like you.

                “But there’s one thing people always get wrong. There’s nothing wrong with being the way you are. I think you’re more beautiful the more unique you are, and you, Castiel, you’re a whole new brand of human, angel, whatever you want to say you are, because you _are_. Like I said: Me? I’m boring, but you, Oh you, Castiel… I’m going to have to make up a new word just to say—“

                “Mr. Winchester, another patient. You’re going overtime.”

                Dean’s head snapped in the direction of the door and he ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.

                “All right, bring ‘im in,” he said regretfully.

                Castiel stuffed the Sorry game piece back into his pocket and stood with a creak of the chair. Before he got far, though, Dean stood and grabbed his wrist.

                “To say how perfect you are,” he finished, words rushed and desperate to get the point across.

                Castiel felt as if electricity was shooting through him and a light blush dusted over his cheeks. It happened so quickly that Castiel wasn’t sure if it had happened. Dean was sitting back at his desk and already greeting the next patient. Dean’s eyes lifted back up to Castiel and he gave him a wave.

                Castiel left the room and leaned against the door for a few seconds, catching his breath before it got too far away from him.

                _You like him_ , Meg teased, _You really like him_.

~~*~~

                The feeling of being completely and absolutely trapped is indescribable other than to those whom have felt it. The feeling of being closed in on, chest tightening and all you want to do is _scream_ but you can’t, or if you do it just isn’t loud enough. Voice hoarse and sticking to your throat like poison and just _burning_. This _burning_ this _blazing fire_ that won’t go away and water only makes it worse like in a kitchen fire. And still, I have not described it accurately, because, only those of you whom have felt this way know exactly what I’m talking about—know exactly how Castiel felt at that moment.

“Calm down! Calm down! Nurse!”

                Castiel screamed and pushed himself against the wall. Arms flailing and hitting anyone that got to close to him. He pushed a chair over and in front of him in defense. It was like watching someone play a two-person video game, except there’s a glitch because there’s only one character on the screen, and no matter how many times you hit square-for-punch the other’s health gauge just _won’t go down_.

                “No one’s hurting you, Castiel, you need to calm down!” the nurse’s head swiveled around, “Someone get something to calm him down!” 

                Castiel hugged his knees and kept screaming, his fingernails digging into the skin of his legs, but the pain was not enough to get him to stop, the clouds never felt so heavy above him, made of the heaviest lead and silver. Unlock those gates to Heaven, oh please, let Castiel be _free_. His foot kicked at nothing and tears streamed down his face like rain off the side of a broken building because _please please please_ , but no one knew what he was begging for, and no one could see what was tormenting him.

                “Cas! Dude, calm down!” Dean shouted as he ran up to the scene. He grabbed Castiel’s shoulder.

                Castiel threw his arm in Dean’s direction with a terrified yelp, knocking him away, _“Don’t touch me!”_ he screamed, his voice cracking and he kept swiping at the air. “ _Please don’t touch me anymore!”_

                Castiel felt talons ripping at the insides of his head, pricking into his eyes and just, oh for the love of God _stop_. He threw his head from side to side and curled in on himself, shouting at the thing, the person, that no one could see to get away from him. His eyes squeezed shut and all he wanted to do was scream louder so he did. All he wanted to feel was nothing, but he could not feel nothing. How he yearned to be sucked into oblivion but—

                Castiel must have been wishing too hard because a needle plunged into his forearm and he felt his body falling limp and he collapsed on the tile floor, the Sorry game pieces falling out of his pocket as he felt his eyes growing weary with fatigue. He stopped fighting and allowed himself to sleep.

~~*~~

                A bottle of pills was placed with an audible _thud_ in the middle of the table.

                Dean looked from the bottle to Castiel and pursed his lips.

                Castiel looked from the bottle to Dean and squinted.

                “Yours,” Dean proclaimed and pointed at the medicine. “You’ll have to take those every morning now.”

                Castiel grimaced but took the bottle and slid it in front of himself, tapping the lid with his finger absentmindedly. _It’s Naomi’s fault, you know that_ , Samandriel said in attempt to comfort him. _She gets into all of our heads_. Castiel nodded and pulled his knees up to his chest.

                “It’d help to talk about it, you know,” Dean said and leaned forward. He looked like every other doctor again. Castiel wanted him to be _Dean_ not _Doctor_.

                Castiel shrugged. _He wouldn’t believe you anyways. Just like all those other doctors_ , Samandriel added. “I know,” Castiel told him, but at least he felt a bit better knowing he wasn’t alone. There was a lengthy pause with Dean looking at him expectantly, and that’s when Castiel realized Dean probably thought he had answered him.

                “No, I mean, that was to Samandriel,” Castiel explained. “He said you’re just like all those other doctors. You wouldn’t believe me anyways.”

                Dean sat forward with his arms on the table. “Hey, listen to me,” he said sternly, “Like I said, you are what you say you are. The world is only what people make of it, and if that’s what you say you are, if that’s what you say happened, that’s the _truth_. It’s real.”

                But Castiel still hadn’t looked up. Dean grabbed the pills from Castiel, rattling them around until Castiel looked up confusedly. _He’s not like the others,_ Meg interjected. _I told you, you like him because he isn’t like the others._

                “Look at me,” Dean demanded in a voice that Castiel couldn’t refuse.

                Castiel’s gaze snapped up and _I could get lost in your eyes. I am._

                “Did it feel real?” Dean asked and his eyes never left Castiel’s in that way that made Castiel feel like he was wading waist-deep in a river, stepping over rocks and stones and tree branches. Do you feel that wind that whispers past his ear or see the mountain that fell to his knees to have a look at _Dean’s eyes_?

                Castiel nodded numbly.

                “Then it happened, and I’ll believe you. But I can’t believe this air between us or this table or—“ Dean rattled the bottle of pills around some more— “These. You have to tell me.”

                Castiel felt like he was sitting in a bathtub filled with ice. He couldn’t stop shaking, stop shivering, but somehow it was okay because _Dean_ , and that single word, single name was the only justification he ever needed.

                “It was Naomi,” he said in a fear-stricken voice.

                Dean leaned back in his chair, seemingly content with getting Castiel to talk. “Naomi? Who’s Naomi? Is she an angel, too?”

                Castiel nodded. “Father is gone, so she runs a lot of Heaven now.”

                Dean made a noise of understanding. “So what happened? What did she do?”

 

                _Castiel screamed in pain as a hand pulled his hair, forcing him to his knees. His bloodshot eyes looked up pleadingly to the woman above him. She cursed at him and spat on his face, pulling his hair harder and threw him into the wall. She shouted over and over at him that it was his fault, and alas all of Castiel’s pleads and cries for forgiveness, he was unheard. He drove himself hoarse and deaf of his own voice and oh God, could he not scream enough?_

                Castiel started to shake in fear at he didn’t even know what, something buried so deeply within him that only a crack would make him scream and beg to be forgiven for something he didn’t remember what. He only wanted to be forgiven.

                “Hey, hey, Cas, you okay, man?” Dean said hastily, “You’re okay you know that right? You’re safe in here. I put angel warding around so no one can get you.”

                “But I’m an angel, too. How can I be in here then?”

                Dean shrugged, “Guess you’re just special. You’re _my_ angel.”

                And if those words didn’t make Castiel’s heart flutter nothing would.

                Castiel gave a shaking breath and he looked back up at Dean. “She gets in all our heads,” he told him. “That’s how Samandriel puts it.”

                “Your brother?”

                Castiel nodded.

                “All right then. Start talkin’,” Dean said, pushing his chair back and kicking his feet up jokingly.

                Castiel chuckled and Dean laughed too, taking his feet back down, but leaned forward to show Castiel he was serious about the talking part. Castiel didn’t know where to start, really. He reached his to his pocket for his Sorry game pieces, but found his pocket was empty. His eyes widened and he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning them inside out.

                “Where’s—“ he said frantically and stood up, looking around the room.

                “Where’s what?” Dean said, his doctor voice back. Castiel didn’t like that voice.

                “Sorry,” he said quickly, “Sorry game. Pawn. Red.”

                “These?”

                Dean pulled out five red pawns from his bag and put them on the table, watching them roll before coming to a slow stop. One was standing up straight while the other four were on their sides. Castiel let out a relieved breath.

                “Yes,” he said breathlessly, “Yes.”

                He collected the pieces and put them back in his pocket, taking the one that was still standing and turned it over in his hand. It felt heavy, weighing down in his hand and burning and blistering the skin. He looked back up at Dean.

                “What did you do to it?”

                “The game pieces? I just picked them up when you dropped them. Is anything wrong?”

                Castiel looked back at his palm. “Nothing. They’re just different.”

                “A bad different? Want me to get you a new game board?”

                But Castiel shook his head and said, “It isn’t bad. Just different.”

                The door opened and another patient poked their head in. Castiel took that as a sign to leave and he started towards the door, still looking at the game piece.

                “Cas!” Dean called, and Castiel turned around. Dean waved the bottle of pills at him. “Catch!”

                The bottle of pills fell to the floor a few feet short.

                “Sorry,” Castiel muttered and bent down to pick it up.

                “Nah, my bad. I shouldn’t have thrown them.”

                Castiel picked up the pills silently, the bottle feeling as strange as the game pieces did, but he pretended it didn’t bother him at all. He closed the door slowly and his bare feet dragged across the tiles. To be reading a book, and feel as if you are in a desert, is that even possible? To be eating ice cream but feel like you’re drowning in salt water—that seemed impossible, too. To be afraid of heights, afraid of falling, but not afraid of the arms spread out before him under the clouds of the first fall, it seemed unlikely. But it was true. _You like him, you like him, you really really like him,_ Meg chanted in a singsong voice.

                “Shut up,” Castiel grumbled and shoved the red pawn and the medicine into different pockets.

~~*~~

                _Your move_ , Gabriel said.

                Castiel picked up a card, being in the main room, he had an actual board again with actual cards. The paper between his fingers felt crusting and old, undeserving of such treatment from others. He could see patients in the past bending the cards, biting the corner in concentration. No one deserves to be used like that. He moved his red pawn over three spaces and nodded to Gabriel. Gabriel’s pawns were yellow. He moved four spaces. Castiel sat up straighter with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips in a game of tug-a-war. He picked up another card and this time he moved two spaces.

                _So what’s up Cassie?_

                Castiel shrugged and then nodded to him for him to move. He did.

                _Meg told me you had a crush_ , Gabriel raised his eyebrows up suggestively.

                “I do _not_ have a crush,” Castiel denied, but despite his words a blush crawled up his face.

                Gabriel held his hands up in mock surrender before moving a few more spaces.

                “You have to go back to start,” Castiel told Gabriel when he picked up a new card; his eyes looked up seemingly in a pleading manner. “Sorry.”

                Gabriel shrugged indifferently and moved his pawn back. They continued playing the game in relative silence, listening to the others around them. Some patients were loud and laughed hysterically for no reason, and some were stonily silent. Castiel’s hands felt cold and he rubbed them together, looking at the open window and debating whether or not to close it. He never did.

                But there was something comforting from the window, this feeling of light both in air and of refreshment. Green was never green enough no matter where he looked; some say the grass is always greener on the other side, but Castiel disagrees. The grass is dull on his side and grey on sides farther. May he dig until his fingers are coated and caked in dirt, lather up the soap but still he cannot hide the grime. All he wants to do is be clean.

                Castiel stood up, collecting his pawns and stuffing them back into his pocket. Gabriel didn’t ask why he stopped playing anymore. Castiel never finished any games he started. He walked aimlessly, finding himself in the garden; how he loved the garden, singing, dancing, waltzing, but there was no music, there didn’t need to be. There were a couple people walking around like he was, some with their doctors and some laying down in the grass. Flowers reached up and grabbed his ankles, Stay, they told him and danced around him.

                “I can’t,” he replied, “Sorry.”

 

_“Sorry, sorry, sorry—!”_

_“YOU NEVER ARE!”_

 

                “Cas?” he heard Dean call a few feet down. He was sitting on a bench with a girl.

                “Hello, Dean,” Castiel said and Dean smiled. Castiel felt a smile growing on his own face but he suppressed it.

                _You like him_ , Meg teased again and Castiel’s cheeks flushed because of course he didn’t. _You keep telling yourself that, Clarence._

                They didn’t say anything more though, because Castiel passed him either out of embarrassment or thinking himself as bothersome. Dean was with a patient anyways. The sky beckoned Castiel to return home, but he knew he could not. No, he never could, not yet. He ventured to the middle of the garden where a man was tending to the flowers. How kind of him.

                He’s sorry. He really is.

                Castiel pulled a game piece out of his pocket, rubbing it between his fingers absentmindedly as he sat down among the flowers and the bees and the butterflies and can he please fall into nothing? He raised a hand and squinted at the sun between his fingers. He closed his eyes.

                He could feel the bees flying in front of his face and he smiled that thin-caked smile. The type of thin that you get if you roll pizza dough out too much. Castiel never made pizza before, but he could imagine it. That’s how he smiled. There were patients around him swatting at the bees, and that did not make Castiel smile, that made him frown. Bees were gentle and misunderstood. They could sting only once and die right there. They would live their lives out in fear _I have one chance to defend myself, and even if I do, it will kill me_.

                “I won’t hurt you,” he said to the bees. “I promise. Don’t hurt yourself over me. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I really really don’t. I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

                The bees clouded his vision and he smiled. He could hear them say back, _I know. It’s okay,_ and as much as Castiel doubted it, he allowed himself to believe it just for that moment.

                “Okay,” he said softly in a voice that skipped once over the blazing hot, hard and uneven gravel. “Okay.”

~~*~~

                It became easier every day for Castiel to walk into the doctor’s office. Before, he felt his skin crawl, under, over, inside out and _run away because those doctors never helped in the slightest_. Castiel used to just _hear_ their questions resonate from behind the door; he heard the calls and claims that were for his insanity, and once, he’d heard a doctor shout at him that he wasn’t fixable. He feared the wringing of hands and shaking of heads, the pitying looks; Castiel felt like he was standing in quicksand with those other doctors. He could hear tin cans clanging together in a way that was so discordant, but somehow it felt… Existent? Is that a word that may be of use?

                “Are you coming in or what?” Dean poked his head out the door and Castiel realized he had probably been thinking too long.

                Castiel answered by walking through the door and Dean hopped over the desk and sat in his chair. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Castiel’s lips because it was just like a child. _You like him, you like him, you like him_ , he heard Meg chanting and he did his best to ignore her. Dean started like every other doctor, and Castiel expected this, this simple _How are you?’_ s and _Did anything interesting happen yesterday?_ Castiel was beginning to think it was some law that they all had to start like that.

                “So,” Dean said, leaning forward in a way that was comfortable and friendly.  “You’re going to tell me about friends. People you liked before you came here. You’ve been here a year right?”

                Castiel nodded, trying to think back. It felt like reaching through a plastic bag into strawberry jelly, icky, sticky, vague and _wrong_. The more he wandered back the more he was consumed with darkness and just when he was about turn back around the image of a restaurant came into mind. People rushing back and forth and couples eating lasagna, the lights flickering once or twice and then a man coming up to him with a smile, saying something indistinguishable before giving him a plate of food. Castiel took the plate to a table.

                “There was someone with blond hair,” he said softly. “I don’t remember well…”

                “That’s all right. Try your best.”

                _The restaurant felt comfortable, Castiel knew his way around easily. Had he worked there long? Castiel couldn’t quite remember, but with each passing second, the memory became clearer. Tapping on a glass will soon break it. And with the nearest memory at place, break it did._

                _“Cas? Are you alright?”_

_The man with blond hair held Castiel’s arm in attempted comfort but Castiel threw him off rashly, he shouted, “Don’t touch me!” He seemed deranged, as if the words were not meant for the man. Castiel’s eyes looked up wide and panicked. “Please get her away from me!”_

_“Get who away from you?”_

                “He may have…”  
 _The man with blond hair rushed to a phone and dialed for help. Customers had started rushing away from the scene, and some stared. Castiel was under table, trying to keep away from something. The man with blond hair looked terrified, though not of the scene but for his friend whom was obviously in some sort of pain. No matter if he could not see it, it was obvious that Castiel could feel it and that’s all that mattered._

_“Cas, Cas look at me,” the blond haired man said, crawling under the table with him. “You’re safe okay? I promise nothing’s getting you. Just please calm down. For me, okay?”_

Words started to pop up vaguely and Castiel gave a small smile. “I remember. He had a British accent. I made fun of him for it once. We worked at a restaurant together.”

                _Castiel’s eyes snapped up, tears streaming down his face and the blond haired man forced himself not to look away. Castiel needed to be comforted from whatever this was._

_“Tell her I’m sorry,” Castiel begged. “She won’t listen to me. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”_

_“Tell who?”_

Castiel’s face scrunched up, perhaps he same way it would if someone just threw a wet rag at him. Fragments came back to him at a time, but the more he remembered, the faster his heart beat was. The more his hands shook. The more he looked panicked.

_“M—”_

“Cas, are you okay?”

_Blurred and skipped tracks, sketches in mechanical pencil never to be inked over. Babbling and garbling speech and then just a bit clearer—_

_“You should get help.”_

                “He—He’s the one that told me to come here,” Castiel stopped abruptly. “No, I can’t remember. I can’t. I’m lying, none of that’s real. It can’t be real. It—“ Castiel looked up at Dean with desperation leaking from every orifice. “Please tell me it isn’t real.”

                Dean leaned forward. “Castiel, what were you saying? How isn’t it real?”  
                “Balthazar is my brother. He’s an angel. He couldn’t—“

                Different realities started to bleed together. The hazy image of Balthazar’s face and words mixed with something clear and _tangible_. And then Meg—

                _“Hey, Clarence, got that history assignment done yet?_ ”

                “Dean!” Castiel shouted desperately, his head pounding and heart beating rapidly. Catch his soul with a butterfly net before it runs away too far, clipped wings never to fly again have begun to rebel. They have been told time and time again that they could not fly, but they were. Fly _far_ and fly _fast_ and Castiel couldn’t breathe because

                _“Tell who?”_

_“Mo—“_

                “What? What’s wrong?” Dean said, his voice dancing on the edge of a polished blade.

                Castiel shook his head violently, violently—before he fell relaxed. It was a chilling kind of change, as if from years of sleeping in the snow, as if from dreamless nightmares. Fall from a cliff or two maybe three, would it not make a difference? Or would you give him change for a dollar because his card isn’t working?

                “Cas?” Dean asked hesitantly.

                Castiel looked up as if he didn’t know Dean was there.

                “Are you all right?”

                Castiel’s hand found his pocket and he rubbed the red pawn.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

~~*~~

                In the next session, Dean was more cautious, more careful. His fingers itched and twitched with eagerness, needing—wanting—to know what Castiel was talking about yesterday and what happened that made him stop. It shocked him the way it would if you stuck a quarter in an electrical outlet. Castiel sat down and pulled his legs off the ground, crossing them adolescently in the chair.

                “How are you?”

                “Fine.”

                “Did anything awesome happen yesterday I should know about?”

                “No.”

                “Did you have a good breakfast?”  
                “I don’t eat. I am an angel.”

                “You should,” Dean sighed. He got that answer every day.

                “I don’t need to.”

                “The medicine could be harmful on an empty stomach,” Dean pointed out, reaching under his desk and putting some crackers on the table.

                Castiel looked at the snacks with confusion that only heightened with Dean pushed them towards him. The message was clear, but Castiel did not want to acknowledge it. It looked like just a handful from Dean’s personal stash or something of the likeness. Castiel was still watching the food as if it would grow legs and start dancing when Dean—

                “Eat,” Dean instructed and jabbed a finger at the crackers.

                “I don’t—“

                “You need to eat.”

                A look of defeat overcame Castiel’s face and he reached for the crackers, picking one up with two fingers and sliding it between his lips. The room was silent other than the small sound of crunching. Castiel looked up at Dean after he’d finished the cracker.

                “All right,” Dean grinned, looking happy with himself. “Now, tell me about your brother, Balthazar.”

                Castiel changed positions in his chair as he thought, sitting up straighter and leaning on one arm. His mind was a ball of yarn slowly unraveling and he was the cat that chased the thread. There was nothing to weave the yarn into, but Castiel would find something soon enough.

                “He’s really funny even though he can be annoying sometimes. He used to look after me a lot. One time we watched the Titanic and he was groaning the entire time, saying how stupid the characters—“

                _“You’re telling me that chick is naked and the guy doesn’t think to do anything other than painting? Bullshit.”_

_“Oh come on, they can both fit on that raft easily!”_

_“OH, HER VOICE, SHUT UP! TURN OFF THIS MOVIE! THIS SONG IS KILLING ME!”_

                “—were. Needless to say, we never finished the movie,” Castiel chuckled.

                Dean nodded, smiling at the way Castiel’s eyes were so bright. “Where did you meet him?”

                “We went to high school together. We weren’t the best of friends in school but we met up at a restaurant we both happened to get a job at,” Castiel said, a faraway look in his eyes.

                Dean sat up straighter at this, narrowing his eyes because—

                “Wait no,” Castiel stopped himself. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

                Castiel looked as confused, if not more confused than Dean.

                “We’re brothers. That’s obviously how…”

                _“Stop stealing all my pencils!”_

_“I like your pencils better, Cassie.”_

_“Then buy your own that are like it. You always bite the erasers.”_

_“I saw you do it once. Indirect kissing,” Balthazar winked. Castiel rolled his eyes._

                “…We met.”

                For the first time since Castiel had been with Dean, he saw Dean pull out a notepad and scribble something down. He yearned to see what was written, but it was too far away, unreachable. He felt uneasy because what had he said that prompted him to write something down? Dean must have noticed his discomfort since the next thing he said was

                “Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything wrong. Just had to jot something down,” he gave Castiel a grin, but somehow it seemed coated in plastic.

                Castiel felt his hands shaking and

                _Laughter, red hair, bubble bath—_

                everything was telling him to _run_. His heart felt encaged. The kind of cage that constricted tighter and tighter and _tighter_. His heart was endangered of being punctured but it _never was and all he wanted was something to show for his pain but no one could ever see it why couldn’t they see it?_

“Dean,” Castiel said suddenly. “Dean, I-I’m _sorry_. She won’t listen to me.”

                “What are you sorry for, Castiel?” Dean asked, voice rushed and urgent.

                Castiel’s eyes filled with tears and his breath was chopped into pieces. “I didn’t mean to, I _didn’t_.”

                “Tell me what you did.”

                Castiel cried harder, legs shaking and he fell to the ground and pulled his legs up to his chest in apparent self-defense.

                “Don’t hurt me anymore,” he said in a voice that couldn’t be glued back together.

                _Everything was dark._

“I-I didn’t mean it.”

                _“CASTIEL!”  
                _ “I _promise_ ,” he whispered. Dean rushed down to him.

                _The door shook on its hinges as a fist pounded on it. Castiel cried from under his bed, sniffling and clutching a blanket to his chest. There were times he would feel like a child despite his age, but all he wanted was to go back in time. All he wanted. He would—_

“Cas, hey, it’s okay,” Dean said softly, pulling Castiel into his arms. He wasn’t sure what else to do, and at the moment, Castiel looked just seven years old. He couldn’t help himself; almost as if they were connected by a thread that was shortening with each passing second because all Dean wanted was to _hold him_. _Fix him_.

                Castiel thrashed in his arms at first, trying to get out. His chest heaved as he pushed at Dean’s shoulders, tears streaming down his face.

                “It’s okay, Cas, it’s okay,” Dean whispered and didn’t let Castiel go.

                Eventually Castiel seemed to realize where he was, his body falling relaxed despite the ceaseless rain of tears. Castiel fisted his hands in the back of Dean’s shirt, hiding his face in the crook of his neck as if it was the safest place in the world. His heart beat faster for a different reason entirely.

                “You have angel warding, right?” Castiel asked hoarsely, in a small voice that wasn’t more than a millimeter high.

                Dean smiled, running his fingers through Castiel’s hair. He felt his body rock to the side and back, heart light and breezy like the spring breeze. And may flowers sprout up, and dance because, though it was autumn  spring didn’t seem too far away. His voice sounded even and soft when he spoke.

                “Yeah.”

~~*~~

                “Good morning,” Dean greeted him.

                Castiel nodded in reply and sat down across from him. He counted the days they’d been together in this room, coming up with nearly a month. It’d been nearly a month and he’d not been referred to another doctor. He wondered if he would stay with Dean for the rest of his time, or if Dean would eventually refer him as well. He didn’t want another doctor.

                “Penny for your thoughts?” Dean smiled at him. Why did he smile?

                _He’s a cutie, you should get some of that_ , Meg teased. Castiel fought the blush that crawled across his cheeks as he glared at her again. She held up her hands in mock surrender.

                Castiel shrugged in reply to Dean’s question.

                “All right, we’re going to be like that,” Dean huffed. “Do you trust me?”

                The question caught Castiel by surprise, having never been asked that before. The room felt different, perhaps colder. He was unsure whether he liked it or not. The answer to his question was seemingly obvious, and Castiel wondered if anyone did not.

                “Yes.”

                Dean’s smile stretched wider. “Then you can tell me anything.”

                Castiel cast his eyes down.

                “Is there anything you’ve ever wanted to tell someone but you weren’t able to?”

                Castiel felt the air around them too heavy. He wrung his hands nervously, for there _was_ something. He’d never said it allowed, it was just always there. It was something he thought was as blatant as the sun each day, but he never knew if it was known. It might not have been.

                “Yes,” he said softly.

                “Tell me, then.”

                There was a soft quietness between then before Castiel found his voice shaking, “I love her,” he said, “I love her and I’m sorry.”

                Castiel felt his eyes burning and dug the palms of his hands into them. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t deserve to cry. Nonetheless, his breath hitched and his hands were dampened, he hated himself for doing this.

                The confession seemed not what Dean was expecting, and perhaps something twisting up in his chest. He pushed it back down and leaned across the table, feeling less welcome to put his hands on Castiel’s but he did.

                Castiel looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

                “If I was her, I’d probably already know.”

                Castiel’s chest moved rapidly as his breath was cut into pieces.

                “It’s all right,” Dean said softly, and Castiel wondered if this was in the job description. But the curiosity was too much and his lips asked without his heart’s permission, “Why couldn’t you tell her?”

                His mind supplied it was probably because he was in this hospital.

                But Castiel said, “She’s dead.”

~~*~~

                It’s something tangible and nothing safe , these homes that he’s been shoved into because he’s said not to be worth what he used to be worth.  Castiel has found refuge in what shouldn’t be and what should be, finding solitude and comfort in a simple board game, and most times, he forgets why he likes the game so much. He wonders if there was ever a reason to begin with. Or if this game was destined to be declared as _his_. Or if the game was never his in the first place.

                The pawns stood valiantly, ready for battle, and though it made perfect sense that they were warriors, it made no sense at all. Castiel often forgot the point of the game other than saying _Sorry, go back to start_. Everything in the world matters just as leaving the salt out of a recipe will ruin the dish. Castiel plays by himself.

                The world felt cruel and it felt unjust but he knew that’s the way it always must be, for what kind of world would it be if everyone had what others had and what others did not? There would be no goals, not a thing to accomplish, there would be nothing at all that would make anything worth living and there wouldn’t be anything to apologize for, but even if there was nothing to apologize for Castiel still felt regret gnawing away at everything that he was.

                Castiel moved his pawn back to start and mumbled _sorry_ to no one but everyone in particular. Gabriel did not come play with him this time. Castiel felt alone. The world was an instrument with strings but no tones and Castiel had yet to create a chord.

                Suddenly, a hand grabbed one of the cards and then moved a green pawn up three places. Castiel looked up, startled to find Dean sitting down in front of him. His green eyes seemed to leap out and poke into Castiel’s. They glinted in amusement and Castiel realized Dean was probably waiting for him to move. He picked up a card.

                They played for a while. It was something that wasn’t anything to be explained.

                “Do you do this with everyone?” Castiel couldn’t help but asking.

                Dean blinked his eyes, apparently taken aback by Castiel’s speaking.

                “What do you mean?”

                Castiel gestured to the game board, unable to touch the pawns even though it was his turn and he knew he must apologize. His heart banged around on the bars of his ribcage just at the thought of it.

                “You’re…” the words got lost in everything that was between the two of them. The distance got greater and greater and it elongated until Castiel could no longer see Dean because he was nothing but a speck in his sight. “…Kind.”

                Bells jingled and violins serenaded in all that was Dean’s laughter. “Gee, thanks,” he sang, “I guess it’s who I am.”

                Castiel didn’t know why he felt the hurt settle like a rock in his body. Maybe he thought some part of him was special enough to receive something from Dean other than medicine. He forced himself to touch the burning red pawns, lit ablaze with fire unseen by Dean. Castiel was nothing but a project in Dean’s eyes; a broken-down car that needed to be repaired.

                Dean moved his pawn.

                “Sorry,” he said, and Castiel picked up his pawn to move it back to start. Dean laughed and shook his head. “No, no, not the game.”

                Castiel looked up as if he was electrocuted. How may one apologize had it not been in the game? Was it even possible or was it nothing but shards of a broken beer bottle, tossed aside because it’d been used and wasted and that’s all it’s ever been good for.

                “I meant that I can see I upset you. Don’t know how, though,” Dean continued and pulled Castiel back by the reins.

                “I’m not upset,” words fell from his lips like a running river.

                The room brightened and Castiel couldn’t count he times his heart had stopped from the corners of Dean’s lips being tugged upwards by strings.

                “All right, all right, if you don’t want to admit it,” Dean held his hands up in surrender.

                “There is nothing to admit,” Castiel said a bit too defensively that only yanked the strings up higher.

                “Everyone has something to admit.”

                A curtain of hush shoved itself between the two of them, wrinkled and dingy. Castiel shoved it aside.

                “What do you have to admit?”

                The strings were cut and Dean’s smile faltered. Castiel felt remorse for asking the question if it meant the demolition of such a beautiful sunrise. He could not take the words back after they’d been said, however, and Dean had cast his eyes down like a baited pole in the ocean.

                A nervous chuckled fell from his lips, “No one’s ever asked me that before,” he said, “But I figure fair is fair. I’ll tell you something you tell me something.”

                Castiel nodded, though he was unsure of what he may have to say.

                “All right…” Dean muttered, sitting back in the plastic-but-looks-like-metal chair. “Well, it’s kind of a long story, but my brother and my dad tended to butt heads a lot. Long story short, Sammy wanted to go to college and Dad wanted him to stay at the house and help out in the family business—auto shop—and Sam left in the middle of the night. That was… Wow, nine years ago? But anyways, I told Sam I was fine with everything, but really… I don’t know, man, I guess at the time I was angry with him for leaving us. Eventually, I went my own way, too, and ended up going to college and everything for my medical degree,” Dean seemed to be finished, dampened like a rag, but he shook himself. “Well, that’s it! Your turn.”

                Dean sat forward in anticipation.

                Castiel found it spilling out of him without permission, without thought. It was something cold and hard, filling the crevices of rock with ice and splitting the stone in two.

He said, “I need to go back to the start, but I don’t even remember where the beginning is. Where did I start, Dean? Was I born of love or a one-time fling? Was I a mistake? Am I the result of a broken condom or was I planned? Was I loved in my first years before everything turned wretched? I’m sorry. All I am is sorry for everything that I am and everything that I will be. I just want to go home, and the only thing that keeps me from it is that no one has accepted my apology. When they do, I’ll be done.  I-I’m just—“ Castiel looked up desperately. “I’m _so sorry_.”

                Dean’s eyes turned softer. There was something about Castiel’s desperation that was just heart breaking. It was something that held onto his happiness by claws. His eyes were young. Dean wondered how long he’d been troubled by not being forgiven, but most of all, he wondered what he’d done.

                “That will be the day I fly away.”

                “What?”

                “When I can go home.”

He pulled himself out of his thoughts to say, “Hey, Cas, you know whatever you’ve done, no matter how bad it looks, you’ll always be forgiven. No one can screw up so badly that they don’t deserve to be forgiven. Besides, you seem like a nice guy. I’m sure they’ve forgiven you already.”

                Something snapped and shattered inside Castiel.

                Something crashed

                and something fell to the floor, skinned and bleeding, eyes blind and falling from everything that is not to be said.

                “I’m,” his throat felt dry, “I’m—I’m forgiven?”

                A sword flew between them but drew no blood.

                The strings pulled Dean’s lips into a smile.

                “Yeah.”

                Castiel seemed in pieces, staring at that game board. He felt so empty, so vacant. It’s as if everything was ripped out of him and dangled it in front of his eyes. He made no attempt to snatch it back. He didn’t want it back. He looked past the debris blown from his being to Dean. The Sorry pieces were cold.

                “For me?” Dean asked as he took the offered game piece from Castiel’s hand.

                Castiel nodded.

                “Thanks.”

~~*~~

                Castiel always felt void of something important; as if someone was always taking something from him, and nothing could fill the empty hole that was blown inside him. And he reached to the sky and wished on the stars but they were gone. He was alone.

                It wasn’t something to be remedied because there wasn’t anything to fix. It was a defective bed, springs rusted and old that always hurt whomever lay upon it. You didn’t _fix_ the bed, you _bought a new_ one. Castiel found he was finished before he’d even started, and that was cowardice, that was defeat. He was shot once over and again, four times more than often. He held onto the bars that caged him. That’s all he lived for.

                And so he was to go home, having nothing tying him to this place. Castiel felt everything on his shoulders gone and _he could fly_. It may have been something twisted. Who knows? Who cares to know? Castiel was in his room, the old bed that probably four hundred other patients had laid upon before was beckoning.

                He did not fight anymore, he set down the sword and fell upon the bed. Any warrior gets defeated, and Castiel was sure he was defeated long ago, he just couldn’t give up with this wrong falling from the sky. He felt his arms limp at his sides and he listened to the sound of his breath.

                That’s when he reached to his bedside and took out his medication. _Two at night_ , rang through his head. And he was forgiven.

                Castiel opened one of the pill bottles.

                He swallowed every pill.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

                The next thing Castiel remembered was white. A blurred light running in and out of his vision of black spots, slapping him in the face and he tossed his head to the side. As he blinked, he realized the room was not, in fact, white. It was a dingy beige color, looking like people were trying to make it look less dirty with (dirty) blue curtains and blankets. His fingers twitched on the sheet. The room was empty except for a nurse who was currently writing something down with her back to him.

                His eyes flickered back to the heart monitor and followed the line up and down. Somehow it could occupy his mind. He didn’t want to think about what had happened, remembering too little. He didn’t want to worry. He remembered wanting to go home.

                It tickled at his throat and at his heart, something suffocating and unable to be manifested. It was as if it did not truly exist—what it was, Castiel was unsure—but it was not unreal either. It ran through him like a blade and came out clean. His hands fisted in the sheets, wanting to leave, wanting to find the Sorry pawns. He was not in his regular clothes, not with his pockets, not with his game pieces. _Sorry, sorry, sorry,_ looped through his mind like how a thread looped through a sewing needle, but this needle just tore him apart at the seams.

                The nurse finished whatever she was writing and turned around, looking as if she was going to walk out the door, but stopped when she saw Castiel.

                “Oh,” she said, her voice was higher than Castiel expected. “You’re awake.”

                She turned in a flurry of red hair and pressed a button by a phone on the wall, saying something along the lines that Castiel had woken up. After that she turned around and smiled at him. It was a bit shaky, and he wondered if she was nervous. A nurse, nervous?

                “I’m new,” she answered his thoughts. “My name is Charlie.”

                “Castiel,” said man provided. The nurse laughed. She probably knew that already.

                “I hope I don’t suck,” she said, “I’ve never done this before. Well, I have a medical degree—my mom wanted me to, you know?—Got into some trouble though (illegal crap, just some innocent fun, but _they_ didn’t see it that way) and the court noticed it and put me on community service here and—Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’m babbling. I do that when I get nervous. Like when—“

                Charlie cut herself off, belatedly seeing Castiel’s amused smile. Her cheeks tinted a lighter shade of red than her hair, and she looked like she wanted to say something to drop Castiel’s smile (perhaps because of embarrassment). Before she could do anything, however, the door opened.

                Castiel was confused to see Dean walk in, the door closed more forcefully than it had opened. His face was contorted into something akin to anger, but not _really_ anger. It made Castiel’s heart leap in fear at the thought—the heart monitor spiked—but somehow he didn’t think Dean would hurt him. Charlie’s eyes flickered back and forth between them.

                “Boyfriend?” she said.

                Both Castiel and Dean turned to her with wide eyes, Castiel blushing softly as he shook his head violently.  _But you wouldn’t really mind would you?_ Meg said, and somehow she sounded genuine. The heart monitor beeped a fraction of a second faster.

                “ _Patient_ ,” Dean enunciated.

                Charlie raised her eyes at both of their defensiveness, but raised her hands as if to say _Whoa, calm down_ , and turned away from them. “I’ll leave you alone, then,” she said with something tinkling around in her voice. They didn’t really ponder it, though, and she left.

                “You owe me a damn good explanation,” Dean’s voice was hard and still, laced with anger and that something he couldn’t recognize on his face before.

                He received a blank face in return; Castiel wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

                Dean’s eyes seemed darker, “Why a night nurse found you _unconscious_ on the floor of your room, surrounded by a pool of vomit, and _this_.”

                Dean threw an empty medicine capsule at him, the anger coming out more than the second-unidentifiable-emotion. It hit a glass of water to the right of Castiel’s head, and it fell over on its side, rolling off the edge of the table. It landed with a _crash_ that harmonized to what Dean was saying.

                “Because it _sounds_ like a friggin’ suicide attempt.”

                Castiel didn’t know what to say. To be put in that way, he supposed it made sense, but he just wanted to go home. He was forgiven now, so he had nothing else that tied him to this world. The strings that pulled him up and in every direction, that ripped his limbs from his body as they said _go left, no go right_. Castiel couldn’t handle it. He wondered if others were able to live in homes of cold concrete, lighting the fireplace each night and somehow decided that life was worth the flame, worth the fire, worth the damage of it all.

                “I want to go home,” Castiel said softly.

                Dean’s face changed, seeming like he had remembered the conversation they had last. “Fuck, Cas, I didn’t—I didn’t say that for you to—“ he ran a hand over his face, his gaze falling to the ground as if the tiles were interesting.

                “My brothers are still up there, in Heaven,” Castiel said in such a small voice. “I hear them, but I do not always see them. I feel—I just feel so alone and I want to go back—“

                “You have me, don’t you?” Dean said, “You’re not completely alone.”

                Castiel looked confused, as if that was the last thing he expected Dean to say.

                “Next time you feel so alone you want to—“his throat seemed to close. It wouldn’t allow the words out. “Do… this,” he substituted, “Just come to my office. All right? If I see you in here _one more time_ —“

                But the words seemed to fly off there, and somehow it seemed like a complete incomplete sentence. And still Castiel, turned his head, unable to look at Dean. He felt ashamed to be caught like this, but he didn’t necessarily regret what he had done. If anything, he regretted his body’s reaction to the overdose. Maybe he just needed more pills next time?

                “What are you thinking about?” somehow Dean’s voice was cold and knowing.

                “Nothing,” Castiel insisted.

                Dean looked as if he didn’t believe him. It hurt more than it should have, even though he had a reason for it. And was right to.

                “Your medicine is going to be administered by a nurse now,” he said, “Daily and only the _proper dose_.”

                Dean’s heart twisted around when he saw Castiel’s face fall.

                “You look at me!” he said, anger woven in and out of his voice—or was that fear? Castiel noticed it now. It was fear, concern, anger. Castiel’s eyes lifted to Dean’s. The heart monitor leaped a bit faster, and Castiel blamed it on the nerves, but he wasn’t sure that was entirely true.

 “You will NEVER try something like this. _Ever again_.”

Castiel nodded dumbly.

Dean sighed, shifting in his chair. Castiel belatedly realized he had sat down sometime during the conversation. His hands folded together between his knees and the look of defeat overcame his features. Never had Castiel imagined his leaving would affect anyone. His chest jumped at the thought that Dean might actually care about him.

“So you’re on anti-depressants now,” Dean’s voice was tired.

“But I’m not—“

“You don’t get a say!” Dean said in a voice that was just under shouting. “Due to that _really stupid_ stunt, you’re marked down as suicidal.”

                Castiel looked the other way. Something was placed on the table beside him, next to the puddle of water and above the shards of glass. He turned to look and Dean had placed a small plastic cup  there with two pills in it.

                “You know how to count, right? That’s _two_ ,” he said harshly and left the room.

                As the door opened Castiel saw Charlie standing to the side, poking her head in the room, obviously the broken glass and shouting had grabbed her attention.

He chose to ignore her until she said, “Trouble in paradise?”

The heart monitor spiked.

 “We’re not dating!”

~~*~~

 Dean ran a hand through his hair as he tried to cool down. Something just struck a nerve with him about Castiel. He wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met, he was… Dean refused to dwell on it long. He had walked into the staff room and poured himself some coffee. He didn’t know how early it was, maybe five, and he didn’t get up that early for _anyone_. Except today, but it was something important. Dean brushed it off.

“Has he ever had any visitors?” Dean asked the receptionist, Castiel’s words of feeling lonely knocking around his skull. “Castiel Novak, I mean.”

The receptionist glanced up at him and flipped through some papers and nodded. “Records say yes,” she said, “Not for some time, though. Says a man visited him twice a week for a month and then just stopped.”

Dean furrowed his brow. Something ripped away at his curiosity, and he didn’t know why. He had sixteen other patients. He didn’t feel compelled to check up on them nearly as much as he did Cas. He leaned over the receptionist’s shoulder, gazing down at the visitor list.

NAME: Balthazar Tennyson

DATE: 5/11/2013

RELATION: Family / Friend

The name continued down to 6/03/2013 and then stopped appearing. It was strange, Dean thought, but not unheard of. Normally people stopped visiting with elderly people or people with memory loss. Dean though it was a sad thing to be stuck somewhere, abandoned by whoever you loved. It was unprofessional, and almost an obsession, and still, Dean couldn’t help himself but wonder.

Did Castiel ever love before?

_I love her and I’m sorry._

He felt his heart bang on its cage, and he would deny it was ever jealousy he felt.

~~*~~

_May 11 th, 2013_

_“Castiel, you have a visitor.”_

_Castiel followed the nurse through the walls that confined him so. It was all so unfamiliar, the tiles that tried to trip him, the lights that tried to blind him, the patients that he was sure was more crazy than he was. He wasn’t even sure why he was here, Balthazar had told him about it, and he supposed it made sense. Castiel certainly looked crazy, didn’t he?_

_The walk was silent, and Castiel was guided through the halls and into the visiting room with chairs scattered seemingly randomly. There were tables with board games, Checkers, Chess, Scrabble, Sorry, etc. His eyes floated over everything as if he was calculating everything carefully. The windows never opened. He looked wistfully to the sunlight streaming in from the glass._

_Balthazar gave him a wave and Castiel allowed himself to smile. He sat across from him. The table between them had a game of Sorry, the game pieces scattered and cards bent and sticking up in the oddest ways as if someone had been playing and never put anything up. Castiel overlooked the game, looking onto the man in front of him._

_“How’s it going?” his friend asked, “Getting any better?”_

_“It’s mostly just therapy. They don’t think I have any mental illness. You know, what I told you… And what happened at the restaurant…”_

_Balthazar’s eyes darkened and he said, “It’s wrong.”_

_That’s all that needed to be said. The message was clear. Balthazar picked up the Sorry cards just for something to do other than sit in the thick atmosphere. He shuffled the deck, sorting them out so that they all faced the same way and put them back on the table. Castiel watched him curiously and decided to help out, putting the pawns back in their respective corners. He picked up a yellow pawn first (it was closest) and turned it over in his hand. He put it back._

_“They got you on any medication?”_

_“No,” Castiel sighed. He felt so silly like this; nothing was wrong with him._

_“I told Meg about this whole—“  
                “Why would you tell _ her _?” Castiel asked aghast._

_“Well, you know she—“_

_“Don’t say it,” although Castiel’s eyes dared him to._

_“You guys broke up what? Half a year ago? She probably still cares about you. If she saw you like I saw y—“_

_“Stop talking about me like I’m insane! I don’t want your pity!” Castiel blurted. “Nothing’s wrong with me! I just—I just remembered something—!”_

_“Cas—“_

_Castiel stood up and ran his hands through his hair. In any figurative sense, he ripped it out. God, what he would do to just disappear, just rip his soul from his body and throw it to the sky. He felt so stupid, so pitiful here in this home for the incompetent. And everything that used to haunt him in the cruelest of ways were now proving true, and Castiel couldn’t take it._

_Everything that was once dangled over his head, taunting him and laughing maniacally, it was all real and it was here. Castiel left the visitors room, feeling his heart ablaze and racing to the ends of the earth. He longed for something to jump off of, not of fatal inclination, but simply to feel the air rush through him, surge through him. He wanted to fly, oh God, why could he not fly?_

_Castiel locked himself in his room and skipped dinner and breakfast and lunch the next day. He felt so tormented, so twisted in the hands of those who didn’t deserve to touch something so beautiful. But no talons were sharp enough, kill him, shred him, bleed him out and wring him dry because apparently that’s what he deserves. The hands that once held him now choke him. He fisted his hands in the sheets and he dug his nails into the palms of his hands. He welcomed the sting. He deserved whatever came to him, for he was ignorant and he was oblivious. He was evil and he was undeserving of anything, undeserving of life._

_And oh, God, was he sorry for what he had done seven years ago._

_~~*~~_

                “Hey, Cas, time for your meds,” Charlie said, bringing in a plate with two plastic cups, each having pills in them. There was a glass of juice next to them.

                Castiel took them grimly, squinting at the medicine for a second. He looked back up at Charlie curiously and then back at the pills. They were different, not unfamiliar, but different.

                “These are mine?” he said.

                Charlie pulled out a paper and her eyes scanned down it before she nodded. “Paper says ‘yep.’”

                Castiel shrugged. Maybe they changed it since his “suicide attempt.” Charlie left soon after that, and Castiel saw her look back at the list before the door closed. He lay back on his bed, it wasn’t uncomfortable, so he couldn’t complain, but he felt too accustomed to it. The same way one might get used to a prison cell. It felt like home in a figurative sense. Home was nice. The world seemed to fly away from him as he closed his eyes and he smiled.

                Wow, this was new. Or not really, was it? Cassie (Haha, _Cassie_ ) didn’t care. The room felt spinning.

                His heart beat faster, his eyes flicking over the room, he started to laugh to himself. It all looked so pretty, what a beautiful world the room could become. The doors were harder. The walls were thicker, but oh look at the _colors_. Haha, Castiel ripped the sheets off of his body. It was too hot. Too hot. His heart was fast. Quickly? No, that was an adverb. But it _sounded_ better. His heart was quickly. See? Doesn’t that sound prettier? Haha, Yes? No wait—

                Bees were flying around and he giggled to himself. How much time had passed? He didn’t know why he was so upset before. Was he upset? Of course not, if he felt so high and sweet right now, how could he have been? He didn’t need to die to fly, oh he just needed _this_. Castiel rolled off the bed and stripped off the rest of his clothes. They were _hot_. Hotly. That’s another adverb. But it sounds prettier.

                “Hotly, hotly,” Castiel muttered and raked his fingers through his hair. His hands came back _glittered_. Woah—wait. Glittery. And that was even a grammatically right sentence! His hands were _glittery_. Castiel liked adverbs.

                No, wait, he hated them. Castiel let out a shout and ripped one of his sheets. He felt on fire. Get whatever this was _out_ of him. He was burning, burning, burning, he scratched— _burning_ —at his body. His eyes were pricked with tears and he shouted and shouted and _screamed_. He hated this. Hated everything. Hated _all of this_. Castiel grabbed one of the tables by his bedside and pulled and pulled and _pulled_. What was he even trying to do?

                He stopped. He started scratching his arms, digging his nails into his forearm just to get it to _stop_ —

                “Castiel it’s time for—CAS!” Charlie ran in, aghast at what he was doing. “What the hell, man?!” she shouted and grabbed one of the sheets and covered him with it before she took his hands in hers.

                “GET IT OUT OF ME!” Castiel screamed and writhed in her arms. “Out, out, _out_ , OUT! HOTLY OUT TOO HOTLY HOT NO!”

                “What are you saying?!”

                Charlie seemed to hesitate as she let go of him to call for help.

                “I don’t like this job,” she whispered to herself as she watched Castiel break out in tears, starting to scratch himself again.

                Doctors rushed in a few minutes later, one injecting him with a tranquilizer. Charlie just caught Castiel’s tear-streaked face, his eyes begging her for something. Her heart twisted around in her chest as his eyes flickered out, dulled and then hid away behind his eyelids. She held a hand over her mouth to keep from making any noises. She had never seen anything like that before and fear clawed away at her heart and her body. It killed her to see someone as bright as Castiel had been the day before in the hospital bed, joking and looking so love-struck—it _killed_ _her_ to see him pulled over the shoulder of a man and carried out of the room to the hospital wing like some kind of animal.

                 She exited the room on shaking legs, feeling she should probably tell his boyfriend (come on, no two _friends_ looks at each other like that) what had happened. When she got to his office, there was another patient sitting across from him.

                “What makes you—“ he stopped midsentence and his gaze stopped on Charlie.

                She had no idea what she must have looked like, but she was probably crying and looked pathetic. Her heart was still racing. Dean’s eyes asked her a million questions.

                “Cas,” she choked out, which she supposed answered most of them.

                “What?” he demanded, standing, seeming to completely forget the other patient. “What happened?” Dean’s face paled. It was _white_ , “Is he—Did he—“

                “No!” she interrupted. “He didn’t… Try again. He just—I came in and he was—He was scratching himself and there was _blood_ and he was _screaming_ and I just—They freaking _carried him over their shoulder_ —“

                “I’m going to see him,” Dean said quickly and there was an absent invitation for her to come along hiding somewhere inside it. “I—Uh,” he turned back to the patient, belatedly realizing he just completely ignored him. “There’s only, like, twelve minutes left, you can just go early.” It wasn’t the first time he had let a patient go early.

                He didn’t give the patient time to reply before he raced out the door and to the hospital wing. He heard scurrying footsteps behind him and assumed it was Charlie. He’d seen breakdowns before—he’d even seen Castiel break down—yet he couldn’t deny the concern and worry that bit away at all that he was, leaving him nothing but bones. He saw this every day. Not literally. Why did the hospital wing have to be so _far away_? He cursed the design of the building and rushed into an elevator and smashed in the fourth floor. Charlie just barely caught the door.

                “Sorry,” he mumbled.

                Charlie shrugged. “You’re worried about your boyfriend. I don’t mind.”

                “He’s not my boyfriend! He’s my _patient_!” Dean said louder than he anticipated.

                “Awfully defensive about it.”

                “I’m not defensive!”

                Charlie didn’t reply but her expression just screamed, “Yeah right.”

                He and Cas weren’t in any way dating. They didn’t hold hands or talk to each other on the phone until three in the morning, they didn’t tease each other for getting food on their face and then pick it off with their finger and then eat it themselves. They didn’t kiss or go to the beach together or—Great now he’s thinking about it. He blames Charlie.

                Dean made a point of walking a foot in front of her when the elevator opened. Since Cas probably got there recently, Dean checked the first couple rooms, finding him quickly. He was asleep when he got there, and Dean’s heart stopped. He looked like an _angel_ , despite the irony of the sentence. His head, tilted to the side and his lips slightly parted. Dean’s fingers twitched at his side.

                “Still not his boyfriend?” Charlie scoffed behind him.

                Dean glared at her and walked in the room. He stopped by his side, running his hand down Castiel’s bandaged arm. He started to pick at it before he resolved to take it off. He couldn’t describe the burning need that demanded to see what Castiel did to himself.

                “What are you doing?” Charlie peeked over his shoulder.

                “I’ll put it back, I just want to see,” he muttered and took the bandage off.

                His eyes were sad as they trailed down the scratches that screamed scarlet. Some marks were crescent-shaped gashes and others were just streaks of red. When blood started to climb out of one of the scratches again, Dean replaced the bandage. His fingers lingered longer than would have been deemed normal and then fell from his arm.

                “What happened?” he asked again.

                Charlie sighed. “I just—I just came in the morning, gave him his medicine and then left. I came back an hour later when it was time for breakfast and found him naked and scratching himself, screaming to get something out of him and that it was hot—“ Charlie stopped herself, narrowing her eyes in thought. “Wait,” she said softly as she remembered, “He asked me if the medicine was his. Like he didn’t think it was.”

                Dean looked up at her, “What did you give him?”

                “It was—Uh, I don’t know. I just read the paper and put the stuff on the tray and give it to the patients.”

                Dean dragged a hand down his face and let out a long breath. He seemed to be contemplating something for a moment, “I’ll talk to the person in charge of the medicine shit,” he mumbled.

                Charlie nodded.

                Just then, Castiel’s eyes fluttered open much like butterfly wings. The world blurred into something more abstract, the medicine still thick in his veins. A Cheshire smile stretched into his face and he tilted his head up. Beautiful world. Beautifully. It all felt so slow. So dense. He flexed his fingers and seemed fascinated that he was able to move them. Bees.

                “Cas, how ya feeling?” a voice asked him. It was low.

                Castiel looked but he did not see, and he laughed. “Feel feely.”

                Giggle because it’s silly or funny, same word right? Cassie didn’t care—CASSIE AGAIN!—He laughed at that, too, because it was funny. Funny was an adverb. It wasn’t cold in the room, but Castiel wanted to feel cold. No he didn’t, you shut up—who was he talking? Oh, no one. Castiel giggled again because he did silly things. Being cold was coldly and being hot would be _too_ hotly. Hehe. Hotly. Coldy. _You’re hotly and you’re coldly, you’re yes-y and you’re no-y_ , see, you can make _anything_ an adverb!

“Cas?” the same voice asked again.

                Castiel didn’t reply this time, he flopped over on the bed and looked through the wall. It wasn’t _really_ there, it was just pretending to be. His hand touched the wall. It made him sad. The wall was cold. He sighed and stuffed his face into his pillow and stayed like that until he had to breathe. Breathing was so boring. Did bees breathe? Castiel bet they didn’t, they were interesting. Would he be interesting if he didn’t breathe like the bees?

                “Cas, look at me,” the voice said. It sounded hurt. Why was it hurt? Did bees sting it? Beeeeeeeeeeees! Castiel laughed and dragged his eyes up to meet the blocky-thing’s-face-looking-thing but it wasn’t _really_ a face, it was just pretending to be. Castiel bet it breathed.

                “I’m Dean,” the blocky-thing said.

                Castiel laughed and his head wobbled on his body as he looked away in seemingly no recognition at all. There was another block in the room, and Castiel wondered why it wasn’t speaking. Maybe it was a bee? A BEE?

                “Are you a bee?” Castiel sat up quickly, feeling the room spin just a little bit. He was on his hands and knees now, on the bed. He reached a hand out to the other block. It was a bee wasn’t it? Castiel loved bees. He didn’t remember why, but did he need a reason? It was a BEE.

                “I-I’m not a bee,” Other-Block said. It sounded sad. It sounded scared. It definitely wasn’t a bee then. Bees were warriors. They had swords and everything and CCHHHHHSSHHH!!! THEY SLASHED AWAY AT EVERYTHING OH MY GOD!

                Castiel laughed and fell onto his back on the bed. He saw Other-Block run out of the room. Blocky-Thing-One was still standing there. It kind of looked familiar. OH THAT ONE WAS DEFINITELY A BEE WASN’T IT?! Castiel laughed at himself. He was so stupid. He couldn’t believe he never recognized this bee, he _loved_ bees.

                “So _you’re_ the bee,” Castiel threw his bandaged arm at Blocky-Thing-But-Was-Really-A-Bee and grinned sloppily.

                Bee didn’t even reply! It just flew out of the room _really_ fast.

~~*~~

                “I want to know what the fuck they gave him,” Dean spat to Charlie as he caught up with her.

                Charlie nodded mutely, biting her lip. She never wanted to witness something so degrading and destructive ever again. She’d have to keep administering his medicine, but if this happened again, jail or not, she was _quitting_. Her heart couldn’t handle things like this.

                Dean pushed the door open that had **STAFF ONLY** printed on the front. He always hated coming in here. It smelled horrible; he would describe it if only he could. He walked up to the lady putting some medicine in a cabinet with **Jody Mills** on her nametag. He leaned on the countertop as he waited for her to finish, not wanting to interrupt despite the ants that were crawling under his skin.

                “Can I help you?” Jody put him out of his misery.

                “Ah, yes,” he said in a breathy tone. “I was wondering what was medicine was administered to Castiel Novak this morning?”

                “Alrighty,” she proclaimed and put up a last bottle and closed the glass door to the cabinet. She proceeded to step down from a three-step ladder and go to her desk. She opened one of the slide-out drawers and filtered through the names until she came to _N_ and then _Novak_. She pulled out a folder and threw it on top her desk.

                “There we go,” she nodded to it.

                Dean opened it, realizing belatedly that perhaps Jody was going to go through it instead of him, but she didn’t appear to be stopping him. There were eleven papers, all of which were signed by a different doctor and each had a diagnosis and medicine listed along with other things. The one on top was most recent and the one on the bottom was from when Castiel was first admitted.

                Dean curiously looked at the bottom paper.

                **POST-STRESS-TRAUMA**

**SEVERE CHILD ABUSE**

                “That’s not from this morning,” Jody picked the top paper and covered up the bottom one.

                Dean’s hands burned as he wanted to look back at the first paper, but he couldn’t look where he obviously wasn’t allowed. Doctors were supposed to make their own conclusion on a patient, and this way there were supposed to be better results. Dean damned the rule to Hell.

                Nonetheless, his eyes shot down the paper. Castiel was assigned to take a pill to keep his anxiety down (something Dean had administered as well) and also a hallucinative drug. _What the hell?_ Dean thought and turned the paper over. Hallucinative drugs were normally given to patients with severe depression (Dean called it happy juice), and Castiel was _not_ depressed. His interests in suicide weren’t because he hated life, he just wished for a different kind. The paper was signed by a Doctor Zachariah.

                “What the hell? Where’s mine?”

                “That isn’t it?” Jody took the paper from his hands. Much to Dean’s disdain she happened to grab _both_ papers. “Huh, I guess yours got lost. This is from June third, 2013. Fill out another for me.”

                The date sounded familiar.

                Dean grabbed a pen and started to mark in the medicine he wanted Castiel to take. The papers were returned to the folder and Jody loomed over it as she waited for Dean to finish filling in the form, and he did a few minutes later, and handed it back to her. He casted the folder a regretful look and watched it sink into the desk again. He gave Jody a small wave and turned to walk out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

_May 20 th, 2013_

_It became something unwritten for Balthazar to visit Castiel weekly, sometimes more than once a week. It was like a string, a bond, pulling them tighter and tighter. Only Balthazar worried over the tension. Castiel ignored it. Discordant was the chime of the bell when Balthazar entered; there was something chilling about it. For a moment, he could pretend he was simply visiting a friend at a hotel or a gathering until a nice woman at a desk asked his name, the name of the person he was visiting, and his relation to said person._

_It became easier and easier for Balthazar to visit Castiel weekly, last week more than weekly. Even he got used to the shrill, excited yells of the more-insane patients. He sat down on one of the chairs, the one by the Sorry board. Once he sat a seat to the left of it, and Castiel sat right in front of it, staring through the empty air until Balthazar moved over. Every visit felt different. Every visit felt colder, this distance greatening and growing. There were times when Balthazar wanted to hit Castiel to see if it would gain a reaction. Sometimes Castiel’s eyes were glassy._

_He gave a half-wave and Castiel looked past it. He might as well not have moved at all._

_“Hey, Cas,” Balthazar said hesitantly._

_Castiel blinked a few times before he stopped looking through Balthazar and looked at him._

_“Hello,” he said placidly._

_An invisible nurse came and told them to be quiet, and they did. Only the single word felt slow like dripping syrup. It hurt him, somehow in the way he said it, it hurt him._

_“I have a new doctor.”_

_“Another?”_

_It was scripted._

_“Doctor Uriel.”_

_“Do you like him?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Balthazar nodded and the director called “CUT!”_

_“He said I’m depressed,” Castiel said, continuing without any lines._

_Balthazar sat up, “What?” he said. Castiel was one to do things with energy. Perhaps not with a smile, but he did not seem upset doing chores or even seem hateful to anyone or himself. Balthazar would say that Castiel would be the last person he would believe to be depressed, only it is that those are always the most. He rewrote his line, “Do you agree?”_

_To his disbelief, Castiel nodded._

_“I’m sad,” he said._

_Balthazar felt something die inside him then, and he replied, “Do you want to talk about it?”_

_Castiel answered with the silence between them and the nurse hushed them again. The thread was cut and it snapped back and slapped Balthazar in the face. He felt like he was bleeding, but he wasn’t. He felt something burning up inside him, wanting to scream, wanting to shake him, wanting to do something._

_But then Castiel spoke._

_“I’ve thought a lot,” he said softly, “About Meg.”_

_Balthazar’s face changed. A hint of understanding, pity. “Oh,” he said lamely, “_ oh _,” he repeated again in his mind. Once more over again._

_Castiel nodded and placed a Sorry pawn on the game board. Balthazar’s eyes followed the game piece but he made no move to play along. He watched silently. Everything was too much; everything was dragging a massive boulder up a mountain; everything was pulling an air balloon underwater, and nothing was wanting to be put right._

_“You said you told her I was here,” Castiel’s voice broke as if it wasn’t already._

_Balthazar nodded, lips pursed and his eyes dropped beneath the floor._

_“Did she say anything?” his words were hopeful, oh they were hopeful, they were bright and they reached up for nothing in sight. If dreams are so far, if aspirations are too far, why does he bother to raise his arms for a lost cause?_

_Balthazar started, “She…” said he, and a pause, “I knocked on her door. There wasn’t an answer. I told her it was about you and… I think I heard feet shuffle, like she came closer to the door. I banged again, and she still wouldn’t open it, so I told her through the door that you were hurt and in here. Cas, she opened the door.”_

_Castiel’s eyes snapped up, wide, wistful. “What?” he said breathlessly, “Really? What did she look like? Did she look different? Did she_ say _anything? I bet she’s still beautiful.”_

_“At first, her lips moved but all I heard was weird croaking noises,” Balthazar said softly. “I think she was trying to say something. She coughed a few times, seemed to regain her voice, but then looked at me and closed the door again.”_

_Castiel clutched each syllable earnestly, greedily. He leaned forward and for once Balthazar saw a spark of what used to be. Something dropped like a penny in a well inside him. Things were far too dark in this cave to ever find fire, to find light. It was too deep to dig Castiel out of this. He felt regret eating away for ever mentioning this place._

_“She looked horrible,” Balthazar blurted unintentionally. “Her hair was uncombed and her eyes were dead,”_ like yours _, he added in his mind, “It was like looking at a zombie.”_

_“She’s beautiful,” Castiel said, more as an addition than a protest._

_“Castiel,” Balthazar said strongly. It almost made Castiel look at him. “It wasn’t your fault. You do know that right?”_

_“IT WAS!” Castiel shouted and tears fell from his eyes like an unexpected rain shower. “I should have noticed sooner! I shouldn’t have told her to go home! I should have listened to her! I shouldn’t have tried to look at everything from her parents’ view! I should have thought more of HER! I SHOULD—“_

_“CASTIEL!” Balthazar interrupted and a nurse he could actually see rushed over._

_“Is there a problem?” she asked hastily, grabbing Balthazar’s arm._

_“No,” Balthazar said quickly, but by the time he turned back to Castiel, all he saw was the back of his head moving behind a door._

~~*~~

                The next time Dean saw Castiel was in his office for a therapy session. The air weighed two-thousand tons and nothing could keep it from suffocating Dean.  Something tugged at a chain around his neck, pulling him this way, pulling him that way, because he knew what he would do as a doctor, but something kept him from it.  Because when Castiel came in the room he felt his voice leave him without as much as a farewell song.

                There was something graceful about the way Castiel sat down, something beautiful about the way his eyes flickered around the room, and something breathtaking when his eyes met Dean’s. _How are you?_ flew through the air silently. Dean rolled back his chair absentmindedly, to relax or to try to prevent himself from being too close, he had no idea, and he would deny the thought that he ever wanted to be closer.

                Castiel was quiet, seeming not to want to bring up the previous day if Dean wasn’t going to. Dean’s chair rolled forward again of its own volition; he placed his arms on the table. He didn’t see Castiel talk to his brothers or sisters as often anymore, though it did happen occasionally. Castiel fidgeted and his eyes darted around as if someone had said something; a soft red dusted over his cheeks. He wished he knew what was said to make Castiel look like that.

                He flicked the thought away as if it was a fly on his wrist.

                “Hello, Dean,” Castiel said first. It was ages since he’d heard Castiel speak; it was an oasis.

                “Hey, Cas,” Dean lifted his hand in a wave.

                Unspoken questions swam between them, of why Dean didn’t appear to be starting a let’s-fix-you conversation, of why Dean wasn’t talking at all, but Dean indulged himself in staring at Castiel. He couldn’t stop himself, so until Castiel did something about it, he wasn’t going to look away.

                A contest was declared and Castiel’s eyes narrowed slightly as he stared back at Dean. Dean was taken aback, but did not make any move to avert his eyes. Castiel’s eyes were so _blue_ as if every ocean of the world was concealed inside them. The room was adorned with all that Castiel was, having no other decoration as beautiful. Dean could feel his pulse rising, his thoughts racing, his hands twitching, itching to touch him.

                That was when Dean forced himself to look away. This was his _patient_. His eyes dropped down to Castiel’s lips, and he swallowed, they dropped down further and landed on the desktop. He wanted to hit himself for beginning to think of Castiel in this way. Castiel was not here of his own will. Dean had no idea if behind closed doors there was the conversation: _“Do you like your doctor?” “No.”_

                Something bubbled up inside him and Dean felt something flare then die. It was defeat because there was just no way for what his mind fabricated to be anything close to a reality. His body resorted to anger, his heart resorted to hurt, and still it felt unjust to punish Castiel for being perfect. He looked up again and Castiel was still looking at him, seemingly curious. Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets.

                “So, uh,” he started softly, “You wanna talk about anything?”

                “No.”  
                “We have to do _something_ for the next—“ Dean glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes?” That time went _fast_. It was stolen from him.

                Castiel was quiet, though.

                “You said you loved someone once,” Dean’s lips said sinfully against his mind’s will.

                Castiel nodded slowly.

                “What was her name?”

                Castiel didn’t reply immediately. It was a bit unprofessional to ask Castiel of these things, wasn’t it? _No, you’re his doctor. This is part of learning more of his problem,_ his mind provided, and still it didn’t seem right. It almost seemed painful for Castiel to remember a name.

                “Meg,” he said softly.

                Dean felt a void in his body. “Tell me about her.”

                Castiel smiled.

                “She was beautiful,” said he, “She was such a pain in the ass sometimes, but she was so sweet other times. I hated her at first, you know.”

                Dean nodded emptily, prompting him to continue.

                “The first time I started liking her was when we got paired together for a history assignment. She was so stupid and mean and made me do the entire thing but insisted on being with me while I did it. She was horrible. I don’t know how I liked her,” Castiel shook his head. “It’s just… Weird. She would get this spark in her eye and she would act like she owned the world—I don’t know. She kissed me and it all took off from there. It’s like we boarded this plane without knowing the destination and we didn’t even care.”

                Castiel’s voice died away and Dean felt himself listening more closely than he would have liked to admit. His heart asked questions his mind wouldn’t allow.

                “What happened?” he asked softly, _what are you sorry for?_ lay unspoken on the table.

                Castiel shrugged. “The plane crashed.”

~~*~~

          It was evening, the same kind of evening that was cold and rainy. It was as if someone had shaken up the world like a snowglobe. A faceless woman approached the front desk precariously, hair dripping with rainwater and her shoulders shivering violently. She bit her lips and played with the hem of her shirt, eyes darting around quickly. Her feet carried her slowly, shakily. She was a few feet from the desk when the receptionist called to her.

"Ma'am? May I help you?"

The woman's face flashed white for a moment as if the worker had frightened her. She walked a bit closer.

"Uh," she stuttered, "I-I'm here to visit someone."

"Visiting hours are from eight AM to two PM. You'll have to come back tomorrow. I can tell them you stopped by though. What's his or her name?" It ran out of her mouth as if someone had just played a recording: rehearsed and even-toned.

"No," the woman's hair slapped against her cheek as she spun around. "Sorry. It's fine. I'll go. Sorry."

Before the receptionist could say anything more the bell jingled as the woman ran quickly out the door. It was eerie, how quiet it was now. The receptionist ran a hand through her hair, mumbling something about how she was working too late. She told herself to forget the strange woman that had mumbled another apology just before the door shut.

 

~~*~~

 

_“Dean,” Castiel said from the doorframe of Dean’s office._

_Dean motioned for him to come in. It was after Dean’s last therapy session, during the time Castiel should be at dinner. Castiel walked in slowly, shutting the door behind him. The door locked. In the way he moved, every step seemed to be in slow motion. His eyes never strayed away from Dean’s. There was intensity, there was something deeper. Dean’s chair rolled back on the wheels so that they no longer had the barrier of the desk. The silence between them was deafening, filled with unspoken promises and unspoken requests and desires. Castiel was suddenly close, fitting himself on Dean’s lap with his arms around his neck._

_“Dean,” he said in that same low tone that was driving him crazy. “Dean, Dean, Dean.”_

_“Cas… What..?” Dean’s voice was soft and carried itself without strength._

_It seemed like an eternity before Castiel bent his head down a few inches and their lips brushed softly. The arms around Dean’s neck tightened as an anchor and Castiel kissed him with more confidence. It was passionate and desperate; Castiel bit at Dean’s lower lips softly, kissing rougher._

_“Dean,” Castiel repeated, mumbling into Dean’s mouth. “Dean.”_

_Dean found Castiel’s hands everywhere at once, running down his chest, tugging at his hair, grabbing his thighs. Dean gasped and tried to say something, but no sound could come out. He heard Castiel chanting his name like it was a prayer or spell, and Dean was definitely enchanted. Thoughts were too busy, too messy. They were nothing._

_“Dean. Want you. Need you,” Castiel said roughly and started to rock his hips against Dean’s._

_Dean’s head slung back and he fisted his hands on the back of Castiel’s shirt before Castiel guided his hands over his head and dropped the shirt on the floor. Castiel’s lips took advantage and started kissing Dean’s exposed neck, leaving Dean’s hands to roam his bare back. “Love you. Not her. Need you,” Castiel spoke only in fragments. He left gentle licks and rough bites; he tugged at the hem of Dean’s trousers—_

                Dean awoke startled, gasping and sitting up quickly in his bed. His fingers grasped at air and then moved over his neck. He closed his eyes again, trying to calm himself down. His chest heaved and he rolled over on the bed. He groaned into the pillows, trying to ignore the tightness in his pants. He would have hit his head on the pillow had they not been so soft. His hands clutched the sheets and his eyes closed tighter, tighter; maybe if they were closed tight enough he could forget the images. Or the way Cas’ lips felt on hi—

                Dean groaned again, stood up, and ran to the bathroom to splash water in his face. The villainous _5:21 AM_ red numbers glowed through the darkness, and Dean decided on taking a long enough shower to take up the hour he should have kept sleeping. He stripped off his clothes and stepped under the cold spray of water. He faced the showerhead and tried to rub the memory of Castiel out of him, and still the blue tiles only reminded him of his eyes.

                _Forget, forget_ , his mind chanted in a painful contrast to his heart. He leaned against the wall of the shower cell, taking a deep breath, and still all he could think of was Castiel. This was his patient.

                Patient.

                “ _Dean_ ,” he could still hear echoing.

                Patient.

                “ _Want you_.”

                Patient.

                “ _Love you_.”

                “I am so fucked,” Dean mumbled to himself and poured twice as much shampoo in his hair.

~~*~~

                Castiel woke slowly. His body uncurled and stretched itself out, hair poking at his closed eyes as if it was chanting a wakeup call. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times through the dimly lit room. Castiel was more of a morning person than anything, and still he liked to stay in bed as long as necessary. There was something protective about the blankets that trapped the body heat around him. He took in a deep breath, used to the particular aroma of the hospital. He closed his eyes again as one would draw a curtain.

                He lay motionless for another ten minutes before there was a knock and Charlie appeared with his medicine. He propped himself up with one arm and threw a hand through his hair to keep it out of his eyes. He heard Charlie chuckle softly and double check the chart in her hands.

                “You have quite the bedhead,” Charlie noted, almost to herself but probably meant for Castiel to hear, as well. “Here’s your meds. If they look strange tell me! Do they look right? Should I call Doctor Mills to make s—“

                “They’re right, Charlie, thank you,” Castiel interrupted and took the pills from her. He quickly swallowed them to get it over with and pulled the blanket back over him, feeling disappointment rush over him when he realized it was cold again.

                “Oh, okay,” she said, though she didn’t look any more at ease. “I’m gonna stay here for a little bit. Make sure.”

                Castiel was caught between wanting to sigh and laugh, and he ended up doing a mixture of both with was a little weird. Charlie sat down on the corner of his bed, sneaking glances at him while trying to look casual. Castiel felt a smile crawl onto his face at her concern.

                It was like that for a while, neither talking. It was a comfortable silence. There comes a point when familiarity becomes strong enough that silent conversations take place; not that Castiel and Charlie were so familiar with each other, but that they were similar enough not to be bothered by troublesome acts like talking. Conversing. Socializing is bonding, comforting, but presence is trust and faith and love.

                “Well, I’ve got to deliver the rest of these pills,” Charlie said, “You look fine—Call me if you’re not!—so I’ll just see you later. Okay?”

                Castiel nodded and watched her leave. He folded his hands together and watched the spaces disappear. He should probably go to breakfast soon. People said he needed to eat, but he—

                His mind went blank.

                Oh, right, he was an angel, of course he didn’t need to eat. Still, he ended up walking out to the main room anyways. He sat in a chair in front of all the game boards; almost all of the other seats were empty, save for two people playing scrabble. He crossed his legs adolescently and sat by himself, staring at the game board in front of him. It was Sorry. He put all the pieces back to start and picked up a card to move the red pawn. He didn’t need to use the ones in his pocket since all of them were already on the board. He waited for someone to join him. Normally it was Gabriel.

                Four minutes passed, and still no one had come. Castiel’s head swiveled around to try to find one of his brothers. They were usually _always_ there, somewhere, why could he not find one now? His eyes passed people with bowls of cereal and plates of cheap eggs (they _called_ them eggs), but he couldn’t see Gabriel, Balthazar, or Samandriel, or anyone.

                “Gabriel?” Castiel called.

                No one answered him.

                “Balthazar?” the name felt strange on his lips.

                He couldn’t call Samandriel before his eyes fell on Dean talking to a nurse by the **Employees Only** door on the other side of the room. He ran up to him in a perceivable state of panic, grabbing his arm with wide eyes.

                “Dean,” he said, breathless from running, “Dean, I can’t find them.”

                Dean flinched away from him and he had to regain his balance, nearly falling. Castiel felt something pinch inside him. He had probably just startled Dean, though something nagged that Dean probably didn’t want Castiel to touch him. He held his hands behind his back subconsciously.

                “W-What?” Dean almost sounded flustered—was he blushing?

                Castiel ignored it. “I _can’t find_ anyone. I-I can always see them and I went to play Sorry and I waited for Gabriel but I couldn’t see him and I tried to look for him and then I _still_ didn’t see him so I tried to call him and he didn’t hear me and then I tried to call _anyone_ and—“

                “Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Dean had shaken himself during Castiel’s ramble and seemed to be back to normal now. It made Castiel feel more at ease. “You mean you can’t find your brothers?”

                Castiel shook his head violently. Dean’s eyes flickered around the room in thought; he seemed to have come to some kind of conclusion, but he wasn’t speaking. Castiel stared up at him with wide eyes, as if somehow he could touch him with his sight. He felt scared. He felt alone, sitting by the Sorry game board with no one to play. Dean always made him feel safer. Against his will, his feet carried him a step closer.

                Dean’s eyes darted down to him and Castiel would have thought he made him uncomfortable if Dean would have stepped back or looked away. Castiel’s sight captured Dean’s eyes in a rope and pulled him closer. Dean’s eyes flickered over Castiel’s face. He swallowed.

                “Cas,” he started in an uneven voice. “Personal space.”

                Understanding lit up Castiel’s eyes.

                “Oh,” he said, “Right.”

                Castiel took a step back, and Dean’s shoulders slumped over. Dean raked a hand through his hands exasperatedly before glancing back at Castiel. Neither of them could remember what they were talking about.  Dean let out a soft sigh and looked back at Castiel. Electricity shot through Castiel’s body.

                “Have you eaten?” Dean asked, eyes drifting to the breakfast line.

                _No, look at me_ _again_ , part of Castiel argued but he pushed it down. Incomprehension burned at the edges of his emotions.

                “No.”

                “Come on, then.”

                Dean walked him to the breakfast line. Something felt different; not a bad different, but something had changed. There was a thin veil where a wall used to be. Castiel felt his hands move on their own to grab the plate of eggs and a plastic cup of orange juice. He snuck a look at Dean’s face to catch his eyes dart away at the moment Castiel’s eyes touched into Dean’s. He occupied himself with carrying the tray and finding a place to sit down. That difference from now to then was irritating him like a loose seatbelt. He couldn’t point out what it was, yet there it was, and it would continue to poke and prod at him like a science experiment. He wondered if Dean knew what the difference was. He wondered if he should ask.

                Castiel sat down at an empty table. Dean hesitated before sitting next to him. Castiel ate emptily, putting food into his mouth, but feeling it turn to ash. He never liked to eat, he never liked the feeling it gave, still he ate because Dean told him to. The something-different nagged at him again.

                “Dean,” Castiel started. Dean’s breath hitched. “Is something wrong?”

                “No?” Dean replied, his tone rising as if it were a question.

                Castiel narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. Something was _definitely_ off. Dean was jumpy, not at ease like he normally was. Nonetheless, Castiel couldn’t find it in him to argue if Dean didn’t want to say anything. It was a funny turn of events, the patient trying to get his doctor to talk about what was the problem. It made Castiel smile and stuff another forkful of eggs in his mouth. It was easier to eat around Dean.

                Without warning, Castiel took one of Dean’s hands in his own and turned it over to look at his palm. His fingers traced over the lines of his skin.

                “H-Hey, What? What are you doing?” Dean sputtered. Why was he acting so strange?  
                “I learned things about palm reading,” Castiel explained. “I’ve never read anyone’s palm though. I tried to read my sister’s, but she said it was evil and ungodly then made me go read a Bible scripture.”

                “Huh,” puffed from Dean’s lips. “That’s stupid. Well, what does mine say?”

                Castiel looked closer, fingers moving over the skin. Dean’s hand was warm and calloused, radiating with the potential of something he couldn’t pinpoint. He stuck to the basics, though. He hadn’t studied that far in before his sister made him stop.

                “The line up here, how it doesn’t reach all the way up to your finger, it means you’re a dreamer rather than a realist. You’re open-minded.”

                Dean nodded mutely and Castiel looked up at him, then back at his hand.

                “I like your hand,” he blurted before he realized what he said. “I-I mean—“ his cheeks flushed and he ducked his head. “Sorry, that sounded creepy.”

                Dean laughed, and all Castiel could think was how much he loved it when Dean laughed. He wanted to record it and keep it on repeat to listen to as a lullaby. That sounded creepy, too, didn’t it? It made Castiel’s blush darken.

                “Nah, it’s sweet,” Dean said eventually. “Your hands aren’t bad either.”

                Castiel chuckled nervously and his head wobbled in what could be seen as a nod. His thumb moved over Dean’s knuckle slowly and then he retracted his hands as if he had touched a hot stove.

                “Sorry!” he exclaimed, realizing he was basically holding Dean’s hand. “Gosh, I’m an idiot…”

                Dean laughed again and Castiel’s heart fluttered in his chest. _I really like him_ , he thought to himself and wanted to run away. Life was one big game, and easy the rules were, complex the game pieces were, because someone as perfect as Dean could never find love for something as low as him. He was a job for Dean; Dean got _paid_ to talk to him.

                Unbeknownst to Castiel, similar thoughts were strung up in Dean’s messed up head.

                “Castiel?” a nurse approached the pair. “You have a visitor.”


	4. Chapter 4

                Something unspoken crossed through the air, tiptoeing, dancing, jumping, hopping, springing, skipping, diving, no word could accurately describe it. It was stealthy, it was hidden. It was something that banged on doors and then ran away once the door was answered, and still it has no antecedent. Does it have none, or does it not need one? Questions without answers and answers where there were no questions, these things cloud around in nothingness and create its own being. Fanciful desires fabricate where nothing should be.

                Castiel turned around, bemusement etched into his features. His heart plummeted when he saw her. Her hair was the same chocolate brown color as his own. Her eyes were a lighter shade than his own. He had grown taller than her now. She looked so different, he felt so changed, but at the same time, time turned back eleven years.

                “Castiel,” she said in a shaking voice. She looked more terrified than Castiel did.

                Castiel felt his hands shaking and felt in danger of losing the ability to stand. It was the combination of shock and fear the curled up inside his chest and tore around inside. He felt like someone had yanked a rug from under his feet. Images, voices, memories flashed behind his unseeing eyes. He leaned against the table behind him, his feet pushing against the floor as if he was trying to get away.

                “Cas?” it was Dean’s voice. Castiel’s eyes looked younger, more innocent, more vulnerable.

                Castiel bolted.

                He pushed Dean aside and ran as quickly as he could anywhere but _here_. All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing, buckets of air thrown in and out of his lungs. Everything Castiel had hidden from himself, buried under miles of dirt and sand, had surfaced, reached up with splintered nails. He didn’t know where he ended up, but he threw a door open and slammed it shut behind him. He fumbled with the lock of the door before falling to the floor against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest. He felt tears threaten to fall. He felt seventeen years old again.

                A fist banged on the door and Castiel clapped his hands over his ears as tears did start to escape him. He shook his head violently, forcing out memories that tried to sinfully climb up from the depths of everthing that ruined him.

                _“Get out of there!”_ he heard ring from the past and cover up anything of the present.

                The hand kept knocking and knocking and knocking and _knocking_ and _knocking_ , oh God why did it not stop knocking? Reality was that the hand only knocked for a few seconds, but it was echoing and repeating in the mind that could not be remedied by any of the contents of the clinic center. Castiel tugged at his hair. No matter how hard he covered his ears he could still hear the past.

                The door handle jiggled and there was a click as a key turned. Castiel shut his eyes tightly and screamed, pushing himself farther from the door.

                “I’m _SORRY_!” Castiel screamed and held his knees tighter, he hiccupped in sobs.

                “C-Castiel, I’m sorry,” the woman whispered in a shaking voice. Her hand covered her mouth as she shook her head. “I-I didn’t mean for—I didn’t mean to—“

                Dean pushed past her and knelt by Castiel on the floor. His eyes raked down his figure helplessly. Castiel looked so _small_. Dean reached out a hand gingerly and touched Castiel’s hand. He was shaking.

                “Cas? Cas, it’s all right. No one’s going to hurt you. Look at me, come on, look at me,” he found himself saying without thought.

                Castiel opened his eyes. All he could see was _Dean_.

                _You are safe_ , was played in the symphonies of Dean’s voice. He could see Dean’s lips moving, but he didn’t hear him. Castiel felt another tear blink down his cheek as he uncurled and leaned over. His arms tightened around Dean’s torso and he pressed his face into Dean’s chest. _Safe, safe, safe_ , ran through his veins, this strong, full chemical intoxicating him. Dean had shooed the others out of the room by flinging an arm in their direction.

                The door shut softly.

               Castiel sniffled and breathed in the scent of Dean’s shirt. He moved closer, his legs over Dean’s lap as he held him close. At first Dean had stiffened as if he was uncomfortable, but then relaxed and held Castiel in a warm embrace.

               “Angel warding?” Castiel croaked in a voice sore from crying.

               “Angel warding,” Dean responded, a strange mix of amusement and compassion woven between the words. “You want to tell me who that was?”               

               Castiel nodded slowly, his eyes dancing from the door back to Dean’s eyes.

               “Naomi.”

               Castiel put his head to Dean’s chest and listened to his heartbeat. The colors of what he was turned white, denial clouding his thoughts. He refused to think outside the walls of this room, refused to think of anything other than the protection Dean provided, of anything other than Dean’s arms.

               “Wait—One of your sisters? An angel?”

               Castiel nodded again.

               “Cas,” Dean said seriously, “Is she really an angel?”

               Castiel looked up at him, his face contorting into something of confusion. “What?”

               “And Balthazar is a friend, not an angel, too, right?”

               “I do not understan—“

               “Meg wasn’t eith—“

               “Dean, you s-said—You told me whatever I thought was _real_.”

               “I said that if that was how you saw the world, and how it made you feel, all of that was real—But I suspected this a while ago, I should have said something—What you’ve done to yourself, is you made this reality for yourself because the real world was too much for you.”

               Castiel’s mind raced, the words flying right through him and over his head before he had a chance to catch them.

               “I-I don’t understand.”

               Castiel felt Dean’s hands in his hair. They were gentle, a gesture of comfort.

               “Whatever Naomi did to you, whatever everyone did to you, it was too painful to accept. Your mind worked in defense against it and blocked it out, it twisted your memories into something else.”

               “No!” Castiel shook his head, “I am Castiel, an _angel_! I—“

               “Name all your brothers and sisters,” Dean interrupted.

               Castiel sat up to see Dean more clearly. His heart fell and rose like thunder.

               “I don’t under—“

               “Stop _saying_ that! Just name your brothers and sisters. Trust me.”

               Castiel narrowed his eyes in defiance, “Balthazar, Samandriel, Anna, Naomi, Gabriel.” His voice stopped there.

               Silence wedged up between the pair before Dean spoke up again.

               “Keep going.”

               Castiel’s eyebrows knitted. “What?”

               “You told me before that you have over two million brothers and sisters, and that wasn’t even ten,” Dean pointed out.

               Castiel’s spirits fell and scraped against the ground in a gradual sense of dread. His mind and heart felt severed into two separate instruments rather than parts of a whole. His mind worked against himself in the pretense of defense. He didn’t want to believe Dean’s words. He didn’t want to think of anything other than what his heart beat in joy.

               “Cas, you need to remember,” Dean told him softly. “Only then can I help you heal.”

               Dean’s command fluttered and flew over Castiel’s head. He fell limp against Dean’s body in defeat and his head rose and fell in something akin to a nod.

               “I’ll try,” he whispered.

               Dean pulled Castiel to his feet. Castiel stood on shaking knees and held onto Dean’s arm so tightly it could have bruised.

               “It’s all okay. Nothing will hurt you anymore,” Dean told him. Castiel nodded.

               It was only a few feet to the door, but it felt like miles to Castiel. The doorway elongated with each step he took, each shaking, trembling step. He held onto Dean’s arm tighter. Dean was the one that opened the door, leading both of them out. A large breathe fell from Castiel’s lips like a heavy rainfall as there was no one standing outside the door.

               He followed faithfully wherever Dean was leading him, and they ended up back in Castiel’s room.

               “Grab your pillow,” Dean told him as a smile crept onto his lips.

               Through the cloud of confusion, Castiel found trust, and took his pillow from the bed. He watched with wide, questioning eyes as Dean took the mattress off his bed, blanket, sheets and all. Unspoken questions spilled from Castiel’s eyes, but he didn’t have time to ask them before Dean was running out the door with them.

               Castiel followed him, both of them running through the halls of the hospital. It was free and beautiful without meaning to be; elation and ecstasy flowing through the two. A nurse nearly stopped them, but she recognized Dean and stood aside, looking no less confused than Castiel. Dean pushed open the door to his office and threw the mattress down inside. His chest shook as he tried to catch his breath.

               Castiel dropped his pillow on the mattress and stood next to Dean, eyes bright and laughing, but also alit with questions. To have millions of questions and not ask any is a sign of sure faith. A small laugh bubbled up from Dean’s throat and the walked to the door to close it. He sat down in the chair Castiel used to sit in for their therapy sessions.

               “Sleep over!” Dean declared and raised his hands with a silly grin on his face.

               Castiel felt happiness ablaze inside him and he laughed, sitting on the mattress. His heart thumped heavily and against the chains of what might be. At the moment, Castiel wanted nothing more to just grab Dean’s hands and spin around, dance, do _something_ because he felt saved.

               “We’ll talk later. You seem like you need a break.”

               Castiel rushed up from the makeshift bed and into Dean’s chest. It felt like running into a wall, and Dean stumbled back onto the table, but Castiel seemed unfazed, his arms wrapping around him in a messy hug. _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , played like a looped ballad inside of him. He felt Dean’s hands find his back slowly and give him a comforting pat. _I really love you_.

               Castiel looked up at Dean, their eyes meeting and mixing in something soft and loving. And in something tacit, Castiel raised on his toes and Dean leaned down to kiss him. It was slow and deliberate, it was _everything_. Tentative and cautious turned to desperate, Castiel feeling Dean’s hands holding him tighter as if he was questioning if this moment was tangible, if it was real. Castiel’s hands pressed against Dean’s chest, feeling the warmth radiate off him.

               “I love you,” Castiel confessed in a voice that was scattered in the air. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you now.”

               Dean’s hands flew to Castiel’s hair, tangled up in the locks. He nodded quickly. “I don’t know how this happened, but I fell for you, too,” he said breathlessly, “I fell in love with you.”

               “Dean,” Castiel said desperately, as if it was the last time he would ever be able to say his name.

               Dean pulled Castiel into his arms and placed a kiss on his head. His arms, wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Castiel felt as if a castle wall of Camelot had been built around him.

               “I never want to see you hurt,” Dean was talking senselessly now, sputtering out everything he held in before. “You don’t know how painful it is to see you when you’re hurt.  Your eyes weren’t made for tears.”

               Castiel hid his face in Dean’s chest. His heart swelled in everything of desire, he held Dean like he was the last material thing of the earth. He held him like he was the soil that grounded him because he was. He felt a puff of a breath fall from Dean’s lips and then his arms tighten. Castiel didn’t know how long they stayed like that. They were timeless.

               “I’m going to fix this,” Dean said determinedly. “I swear, I’ll fix you.”

               Castiel nodded mutely.

               “Dean, I don’t even know where to start.”

               “How about the beginning?”

               “The beginning?”

               “When everything started getting bad.”

               Castiel was quiet for a moment.

               “I think it started with Meg,” he whispered.

               One after another, doors of his mind unlocked and opened. He felt Dean nod slowly and thread his fingers through his hair in comfort.

               “Tell me about Meg.”


	5. Chapter 5

                _Twelve years ago_

 

                It’s really difficult to start telling a story of how something came to be, how something spiraled from a life into something so twisted. There are thousands of threads, each leading to the same destination, but all getting there in different ways, and you can pluck one string—Listen to it resonate and ring in a harmony that shouldn’t exist. And that’s how it is with this story, too. So Castiel picked up his hand and flicked his wrist and plucked a string—

To be hurt is to be loved—past tense. It might be best to start at love.

 _Hands tangled in hair tangled in hearts. How something so violent changed into something so soft would always be a mystery to Castiel, because now, he was against the wall in his bedroom, history notes strewn on the floor with a girl he swore he hated kissing him. He still hated her. He never liked her, never will—_ Oh wow, her breath smells really nice _._

_“Where’d you learn that, Clarence?” he heard Meg murmur, feeling her lips move and form the words not even a centimeter away from his own. His mind felt hazy and he spoke without thinking._

_“How the United States joined World War II or the kiss?”_

_Meg was a head shorter than him, but her hands tugged at his shirt to keep him from straying too far away not unlike a pet owner would tug on a dog’s leash. Somehow, this was more endearing. He still hated her. He would never like her, of course._

_“The kiss, genius,” Meg drawled._

_“Oh,” Castiel said, dumbfound. “I didn’t.”_

_Meg’s lips twisted into a smile that made Castiel’s heart flip. But he hated it of course._

_“Was that your first kiss, Clarence?” she asked, her lips stretching wider with each passing word. “Did I steal it from you? Am I your first kiss?”_

_“You’re about to be the first girl I hit,” Castiel said insincerely in a mumbling voice in lack of anything else to say. Anything to keep the blush from rising too far onto his face._

_“You’d never hit me,” Meg said and Castiel felt himself being tugged down again._

_His hand anchored on her shoulder to keep from falling over and he vaguely wondered how they got this far. Since freshman year, they had been sworn enemies, and they’d always be like that, and now, here they were junior year… Doing whatever it was they were doing. Don’t get him wrong, he still hated her._

_Just, maybe a little less than before._

_“Pearl Harbor,” Meg said softly._

_Or a lot less._

_“Huh?”  
                “Japan was first to attack the big ol’ U. S. and it dragged us into the war.”_

_“I knew that,” Castiel claimed._

_“Which is why it’s the only question blank on your paper.”_

_“I just haven’t written it down yet. You sort of attacked me.”_

_Meg hummed in a sort of way that portrayed disbelief. She let go of Castiel at last and Castiel felt something sink inside him, maybe it was disappointment, maybe it was relief, maybe it was a strange mixture of the two. His heart thrummed loudly in his chest while he watched Meg pick up her paper from the floor. He wondered if the last seven minutes had all been in his mind and Meg would turn around, call him a geek and laugh at him again._

_But she didn’t._

_“I not-hate you, Clarence,” she proclaimed._

_“My name is Castiel.”_

_“Like I said, Clarence.”_

_“_ Castiel _.”_

_Meg laughed. He got that part right._

_“So do you not-hate me, too?”_

_Castiel took a moment purely just to boost her ego. He considered lying, though it probably was just all of the oxytocin bouncing around his system from the close proximity and romantic gestures—He overthought things much too often. At least that made up for the time he was supposed to be thinking about her question._

_“I suppose so.”_

_Meg gave him a toothy grin that he not-hated. He didn’t really remember when it was that she left. He didn’t really remember the answers to the rest of the questions._

_After that day, their relationship shot up like a firework. They were the cute-cuddly couple that made everyone feel a little sick, that pulled each other into an empty classroom and giggled into the kiss. Somehow, when Castiel imagined dating Meg, he imagined it to be something heated and sex-based. That was definitely not the case. They weren’t shy, per se, but they didn’t want to ruin a sweet moment by throwing in something too much._

_A lot of people told them they were cute together, the whole height difference looking like it was straight out of a movie, though there was no raising-on-the-toes as much as there was yanking-down-so-fast-Castiel-felt-like-he-might-fall-over. Assertive when getting what she wants, Meg was slower and sweeter once she had it. Castiel not-hated it._

_They were children._

_Falling over their own two feet, trying to learn to walk, skinning their knees, and_ run _. It was something innocent what they caught themselves in—It was serendipity. They were teenagers. Everyone asked them about their sex life, except that there was none. Sometimes Meg would lie and say that Castiel was a total great lay just to make him sputter and blush. Others wondered how their relationship sustained without sex. Castiel and Meg wondered what kind of relationship it was to have one sustaining on sex. It was magical, mystical, everything that came from a fanciful romance novel—not that Castiel read those. He not-hated those, too. That was something they often said, until one day_

_“Tell me you love me,” Castiel said breathlessly while they were tangled under blankets during the winter._

_“What? Getting sick of not-hating me? Only if you say it first.”_

_“You say it.”_

_“You!”_

_“Never!” he laughed. “Fine. Same time.”_

_“One,”_

_“Two,”_

_“Three.”_

_“I love you,” Castiel said alone. Once he’d said it he glared at her, pushing her down onto the bed in a seeming fit of anger though the embarrassed blush running up his neck made it all look silly. Meg started laughing, her head tossed to the side and hair scattered over the mattress. “You have to say it at least now!”_

_“All right, all right,” she said with a sloppy grin adorning her cheeks. “I love you, Clarence.”_

_Castiel surged down and stole a kiss. “Actually use my name,” he complained._

_“What? It isn’t Clarence? What other secrets have you kept from me?”_

_“Meg!”_  
                “I love you, Castiel.”  
                Something happy swirled and twisted up Castiel’s insides. He smiled and leaned on her shoulder, nose touching her neck. Something felt so warm and beautiful about this moment. He not-hat—loved her. This was three years after they met, three months after they kissed. They got an A on the history assignment, by the way. Castiel did most of it. Meg answered the question about the United States simply because she kept saying Castiel didn’t know the answer. 

_Everything was like living on a carousel. It was like flying, for lack of a better word. It was like breathing in cotton candy. It was like wearing old T-Shirts that just got out of the dryer every day. It was like singing in the pouring rain—It was like—It was like—There were too many analogies for this instance to name, not because of the abundance of people that were capable of feeling what they felt, but because they felt so many things all at once. It was like double-dutch jump roping._

_Castiel gave his life away wrapped in cheap wrapping paper and he tied the bow himself and mailed it off, he gave his life to Meg. How did he ever know he spent his life running from what he was chasing? Sometimes you just have to stop and be hit with it. All those nights—_

_All those nights he tucked himself into bed and told himself he was good enough for the world—_

_He now had someone else to fall asleep with._

_They shared so much they might as well of shared a name. Meg told him about her family, she was an only child with two parents who were deeply religious, and Castiel told her about his own. He didn’t remember his parents hardly at all, father leaving his mother after finding out she was pregnant and his mother dying in child labor with his younger sister Anna. His older sister, Naomi, took care of them. She was kind._

_Somewhere along the line, Meg started coming over to Castiel’s house more often. She said that her parents were angry with her and Castiel nodded and pulled her into his arms in some sort of comfort—Like_

_the whole world would disappear around him since he now held it in his arms. The topic always changed very quickly, but that’s always how it started. Meg would show up by his front door and say the same thing: “Mom and dad are mad at me. But that’s okay, I guess.” Castiel believed her at first._

_It was three months later that her parents came to him._

_“Meg isn’t speaking to us,” her father told him, genuinely concerned. “We don’t know what we’ve done.”_

_“She told me you were upset with her,” Castiel remembered saying slowly, uncomprehendingly._

_“No!” her mother said, seeming to be offended by the accusation. “We love her! She just won’t speak to us. Not a word. We’ve tried calling, texting, knocking on her door, locking the front door so she can’t leave but she climbs out a window. She just—Please, can you tell her we love her? We just want to talk to her again. She’s our daughter.”_

_Castiel nodded slowly, promising he would talk to her about it._

_They left his home with wistful prayers to the Heavens. Castiel could see the desperation, the fists thrown to the air in a demand what they had done. Castiel felt strings tugging him in different directions. From Meg’s distraught features to her parents’ pleads for her to come home. Meg came over to his home later that night the same as every other night._

_“My mom and dad are mad at me.”_

_Castiel sucked in a deep breath, unsure how to go about it._

_“But that’s all right,” she continued in a way to change the subject again. Castiel didn’t want her to._

_“Why don’t you try to talk to them about it?” he suggested._

_Meg looked shocked. “I’ve tried to smooth things over but all they do is yell at me and make me want to cry.”_

_“What?” Castiel scooted closer, holding her closer. “That’s… Horrible. You know I love you.”_

_He placed a kiss to her temple._

_“Yeah.”_

_They lapsed into silence before Castiel heard her parents’ words echo in his head. It was all just misunderstanding and miscommunication. If only they would speak, it would all get better, and something just felt one-sided about what Meg was saying._

_“You should go talk to them. Go home. They love you, you know. They’re you’re parents.”  
                Meg was quiet before he said, “Did they tell you to say that?”_

_“What?” Castiel felt his chest tighten. “No! I mean, they talked to me, but they really do care for you. You should—Just tell me why they’re mad at you? What’s going on?”_

_“You want me to tell you?” Meg asked in a raising voice. “They abuse me! They mistreat me! They claim—They claim to be Godly and holy but they aren’t! They think I’m satanic! A demon! One day my mother shook my shoulders and shouted at the skies—TO GOD—To ‘get this demon out of my daughter’! I’m not a demon! I’m a prophet! I-I- I can hear The Lord’s voice, Castiel!” Meg’s voice started to shake. Castiel nearly thought she was done, but she took a huge breath and continued._

_“_ _I'm just so shocked by how mean they're being. And by how cruelly they're treating me. They're so unloving to me, and then they accuse me of not loving them... It hurts me so bad that they can't let me follow God. They told me that I'm not hearing God. Can you imagine that, Clarence? Would you ever deny the creator of the world? Or his words? How can ANYONE do that?_

_“Love isn't one sided. It's not be loved first, and then love someone second. You are always supposed to love first without condition. ESPECIALLY your daughter. It's like they never learned the lesson they taught me... I'm so hurt by the way they've been treating me._

_“Ordering me around—They accuse me of being arrogant when I am ANYTHING but that. I have prayed to God asking him if it's true, repenting and begging God to forgive me for this, and you know what he told me? He said I am so modest. I have already learned to be humble and modest, and now I need to learn my true worth._

_“I need to delight in his glory, God's glory, and the beauty that he made me in. And I am learning COURAGE. Godly courage, undeniable courage. I am a warrior and a prophet and a poet of the Living God, of Yahweh. I am not afraid of mom and dad, and even though the things they say wound me beyond human repair, I know a SUPERNATURAL AND TRUE HEALER who walks with me every day. Mom and dad can't control me anymore, and I hope they repent for the AWFUL things they have done, and for the SINS they have committed against God. I hope you'll know God just like I do, Clarence,” Meg gave out a huff of a laugh._

_“I really really am praying for you every day that you'll blossom into a wonderful man of God. I love you so much Castiel, and one of my biggest pains is that mom and dad will find out that we're friends and will try to end our courtship. I love you so much. But mom and dad have wronged me, and they have sinned greatly against God. They are making it worse every day…” her voice trailed off at first and then she sucked in breath through her teeth in presumable anger._

_She said, “They are knocking down dishes and furniture and breaking things, and instead of stepping around it and pretending it didn't happen, THEY ARE BREAKING MORE THINGS. EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING THEY CAN GET THEIR HANDS OUT. They are listening to EVIL and are WRONG and SINNING AGAINST THE LORD ALMIGHTY. They are preying on the weak, their own flesh and blood, those who are easiest to love they are CASTING AWAY as if the GEM that the Lord has given them (his daughter) is nothing more than a piece of worthless coal._

_“His wrath is so, so real, and they are testing him, the God of everything. They deny him daily. What happens to people who deny the Lord? Yahweh Almighty? What happens to them?” Castiel felt still, the air around them feeling colder. Meg continued softly, “It is almost better not to know what happens to such people… I won't tell you what happens to them, Castiel... I will keep praying for mom and dad, and that they will let God back in their lives, but I really can't do anything. It's all between them and God,” Meg held Castiel’s hand tighter. “I love you Clarence. So, so much.”_

_The air was still and silent, partly because Castiel was unsure if she was going to continue, partly because he had absolutely no words to say. And so he didn’t say anything, simply hold her in his arms. Something crawled between them, a barrier, a veil—_

_It was then that everything started to break. It was slow and gradual, but it was eventual._

_Afterwards, her parents were in contact again. “I swear to you, Castiel,” his mother said with unrelenting desperation. “I swear we would never hurt her. We never have—She just suddenly—I don’t know! I really don’t know! What happened to her?” her mother started to break down in tears and hide her face in her hands._

_“I miss her so much,” her father said in a voice that dripped with longing. He placed a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “We just want her home. She hasn’t been home in months. We have no idea where she’s staying.”_

_Castiel felt stuck in mud._

_Gross, filthy, mud. He was screaming at walls, at bricks, and no one would hear his words._

_He found himself siding with Meg’s parents. Something was… Wrong. It was only right to try to talk things out; it seemed to be the only solution. Castiel was patient and kind, trying to coax Meg out of wherever she was. They only spoke over the phone now. Over texting. The memory of her voice was starting to fade._

_All of her texts were the same._

_“I love you.”_

_“Be careful.”_

_“I’m happy where I am.”_

_“You should be happy, too.”_

_“I love you.”_

_“Be good, Clarence.”_

_All of them were the same._

_Then, all at once… She just stopped replying._

_He sent her messages every day. He was blind and he was ignorant of everything that was happening. It felt surreal. It felt like something that was supposed to be in some TV drama. He would call her just to listen to her voicemail.  “Hi, this is Meg. Leave me a message,” plain and simple in a voice that sounded a little too broken. Everything felt dripping through his fingers as if he was trying to hold the oceans of the world in his palms._

_He reread all of the text messages to pass the time. He held the bed sheets, the ones that clung to her scent, and he fell asleep to the pretense of her.  He fell asleep in sheets of tears and heartache. He understood how her parents felt, being completely cut off from someone that they used to use like a drug. If this was how heroin addicts felt, he never ever was going to even think about doing drugs. The last message she sent broke through him like dagger not through the heart or the back, but through the soul that they used to share._

_“I’m really happy where I am. You should be happy, too! Be good, Cas!” was the last message she ever sent, and would be the last of her words Castiel would ever hear in his life._

_He sent her poetry every night._

_Take me to the bakery._

_All things sour, turn them sweet._

_I don’t mind if you skip out_

_On the chocolate chips and cream._

_Hold my hand as we walk down_

_All these caramel-paved roads,_

_Bring me lollipops under each streetlight. And so_

_Long as you may hide,_

_Under sugar-coated lies_

_I suppose I can’t bring myself_

_To fight._

_I’m sitting all alone, by the_

_Bakery_

_We used to go._

_“You’re late,” I mumble to the caramel-paved roads,_

_A mouthful_

_Of sour cookie dough._

_And still his inbox lay broken, abandoned and empty._

_I lay awake at night_

_To count the stars;_

_To listen to what I couldn’t hear before._

_The soft scratching and whispering of the air,_

_The thumping of hearts that beat_

_In unison at the end._

_The tickle and the chill._

_And it’s only because beauty is untainted_

_That many look over it without a thought._

_The world is beautiful, and it is cruel_

_Because the spiders poison and trap and eat the butterflies._

_Colors do not ask permission to shine, they_

_Just do._

_And I pull out my tattered wallet and_

_I ask the price to lose myself_

_Since a smile is so hard to come by these days._

_So with my nails bleeding from scratching_

_On the doors,_

_I stop to lay awake at night_

_To count the stars._

_Oh he just wants to scream because she still won’t answer—_

_She is a symphony._

_Crescendo, diminuendo, a tempo._

_Speak to me in nothing but fortzando. Lure me_

_In with empty gestures and lies._

_I bask in all that she is,_

_In spirit_

_Up bow, down, up, down bow,_

_Lift and release the sound._

_Play dolce, play legato, adagio,_

_Bring me up, she holds_

_My heart in her palms._

_Diminished chords ring crudely,_

_Augmented ring harshly._

_She plays me staccato._

_She drops me down and she rests for bars_

_And bars and bars and forty bars. She_

_Misses the downbeat, she misses the upbeat,_

_Here I conduct in three, yet she plays in four—_

_She’s dragging_

_Dragging this tempo._

_She’s playing in some empty rehearsal room,_

_Some dark rehearsal room,_

_Expecting them to see her._

_With rosin strewn,_

_With bow hairs fallen,_

_With bridges chipped and dead metronomes,_

_Broken music stands and ruined sheet music lay unplayed,_

_And now,_

_Not even she picks up her violin:_

_Adagio molto maestoso._

_Castiel poured his heart out into nothingness. He had given over his life to someone who threw it away and now he felt numb. He felt like a used rag that just washed every dinner plate and was dropped on the floor in a pitiful attempt to hang it up. No one bothered to pick it up. Castiel clutched his phone like it was Meg, like it held her soul. It was another month of silence before Castiel texted her a final message, feeling pathetic for having to do this over an electronic device._

_“Meg?” he typed slowly. “I don’t care if you don’t… not-hate me anymore. I don’t care if you do hate me. I would just like to know. Please,” his fingers stuttered over the fingerboard. Each letter took an eternity to press._

_“If you don’t love me, don’t bother replying to this message either,” he typed, “it will be more than words can ever say.”_

Two months later, Meg still hadn’t replied.

_Lost in the wind, two broken souls, and the story ends right there. They never spoke again, they never saw each other again. What had started so beautifully ended so cruelly that made Castiel try to break down whatever he had built up with Meg. He deleted every picture of her. Every message, and convinced himself he didn’t care. He fell asleep feeling empty. It was a dull feeling. He simply lost the capacity to love, to feel, to hurt. With swords and needles pricking and tearing up his insides, he blocked everything away._

_He not-hated her. He didn’t know her. He was blind to whatever may be of her._

_He didn’t understand._

_Castiel closed his eyes and fell under the claws of nightmares, having lost his dream to the clutches of what he never was able to find. So one spiral starts and ends; a whirlpool spins around and destroys islands and continents._

_As mentioned, a story ends right there, but another starts at a more horrifying magnitude._


	6. Chapter 6

" _What are you sorry for?"_

_Eleven years ago_

_Castiel's mind fell before his feet evening after evening after dawn. It deteriorated. As if watching a man burn from the inside wasn't enough, his exterior crumbled under the pressure of what used to be so simple. His feet felt heavier because_ he _was heavier. Smoke filled up his lungs and he felt like he couldn't breathe only to realize there was no smoke, only the simmering ashes of a fire left to destroy. The deed was done, and whatever it had targeted was completely demolished. Castiel never felt more victimized by nothing at all._

_As any other person, Castiel was sorry for many things._

I'm sorry for stepping on your foot.

I'm sorry for eating the last slice of pizza.

I'm sorry for forgetting to do my homework.

_His sister, Naomi was seven years older than him. Anna was nearly three years old. Naomi always told Castiel that he and she looked like their father while Anna would grow up to be the spitting image of their mother. Her face portrayed nothing but joy and from the top of her head started to pour the soft red song of hair. Naomi worked in accounting._

_Their homelife was always something sweet and enjoyable. Anna was obviously the favorite of Naomi, but Castiel didn't feel upset about it since he loved Anna, too. There was something beautiful about the way she laughed, how she wobbled when she walked, her voice that was just starting to develop a soft, happy tone. Whenever Naomi was not at work, she was playing around with Anna, taking care of her. Castiel thought he should have felt left out but he never did. It was reasonable. His mother had died, and now his sister acted like he hardly existed, but he couldn't feel upset about it at all. His mother may be gone now, but she left behind a beautiful jewel that was the center of both Castiel's and Naomi's life. Castiel smiled as he helped her get dressed. She only had a year before she started school._

_When Meg left this giant hole in his chest, his everything slipped._

_He couldn't concentrate. Everything felt like wasps flying around his head as if he was something to be played with. He couldn't walk, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't live with his life taken away from him. He felt dull, this aching in his chest like a hand kept hitting and_ hitting _and hitting and_ hitting _and just—HITTING—him over and over. Make his heart work on its own—Why must a heart symbolize love when a heart's lack of work is what causes it to break? Castiel went through the motions of the day and hardly thought about anything._

_We're getting a little sidetracked, though. I was supposed to tell you about what Castiel did, the thing that made him feel regret for the rest of his life—and "regret" is too soft a word to use._

_"Cas! Cas!" Anna chanted and tugged on his leg. "Bath!"_

_Castiel picked Anna up in his arms and felt his face stretch into an uncomfortable smile. Anna bounced in his arms and tugged at his hair blindly as he tried to lean away, saying something like "Ow, Anna, no, that hurts!" Anna only giggled. A puff of breath escaped Castiel's lips as his feet slapped against the cold tile floor of the bathroom. He turned on the water, watching it fall over his fingertips as it slowly heated up. Anna swayed in his lap happily. She was always happy. Castiel overheard Naomi telling her once that she was probably a lost angel of Heaven. She was probably right._

_When the water seemed warm enough, Castiel helped Anna out of her clothes and into the tub. Anna sat down happily and splashed around in the water. She stared up at Castiel with elation sparking in her eyes. Castiel allowed the hole in his chest to be filled with lukewarm water and he allowed himself to smile back. He rubbed his eyes as if it would keep him alive and leaned against the tub with his elbow, though he flinched away when Anna splashed water on him._

_"Bubbles!" Anna said, "Bubbles! Bubble bath!"_

_Castiel took a towel from atop the sink cabinet and dried his face and shoulders. "You want me to get you some bubble bath?"_

_Anna's head nodded violently and water flung from the thin hair on her head. Castiel searched among the shampoos and conditioners for bubble bath, finding nothing. He was sure they had some though; last time he used it the bottle was hardly half full. He moved a few more things, still not finding the bubble bath. Anna started to get restless and splashing water onto the floor._

_"I can't find it, Anna," Castiel told her, "Stop making a mess."_

_"Bubbles!" Anna sobbed and splashed around more._

_"Shh! Stop crying, please, here," Castiel held her shoulders softly to try to sooth her. It worked a little. "If I try to find some in the kitchen will you be good?"_

_Anna sniffled and nodded._

_"Okay. You stay here, all right? No more splashing."_

_Castiel held Anna's eye for another four seconds before he was convinced she would behave and he ran off to the kitchen, searching where the cleaning supplies were for bubble bath. Perhaps it had gotten misplaced or mistaken for something else (though it was hard to mistake a pink bottle of princess bubble bath for bleach or something.) He was gone probably another four minutes before he actually did find a bottle of bubble bath behind the dish soap._

_Approaching the bathroom door, Castiel stepped in water._

_"Anna?" he asked softly. He didn't hear a reply._

_Fear clenched Castiel's heart in its grubby palms as Castiel ran to the tub. The water was overflowing as Castiel had forgotten to turn it off before he left and Anna was under the surface. Castiel grabbed her shoulders and brought her from the bathtub, holding her face and trying to shake her awake. This was all just some joke that she was playing on him. It was supposed to be funny, or maybe a camera would show up behind him and a man would start laughing, telling him he was on a new game show. No one showed up._

_"Anna! Anna, look at me!" he said, listening for an absent heartbeat and feeling for a misplaced pulse. He didn't know anything about CPR. He wished he knew CPR._

_Castiel abandoned her again and grabbed the phone, buttons jamming, fingers shaking, heart racing. He fell next to her again, pulling her into his lap and wrapping her in a towel. His jeans were soaked and his body shook violently from the chill. The bathwater had long since gone cold. A woman started talking on the phone, but Castiel couldn't understand her._

_"Hello? Sir? Ma'am?"_

_"Y-Yes," he finally spoke back._

_"What's your emergency?"_

_Castiel let out a sob. "I-I- My sister isn't breathing."_

_"Stay calm, sir, and please tell us your location."_

_"She was taking a bath and she isn't breathing! I-I don't know CPR, I was never good at home ed, she wanted bubble bath, I can't—She isn't_ breathing _!"_

_"We're tracing your call now. Can you tell me how long she's been unconscious?"_

_"I don't know! I—I just came back and she was underwater and now she isn't—She's dead!"_

_"We don't know that, sir. Now, listen carefully. How old is your sister: child, or adult?"_

_"She's three."_

_"I'm going to talk you through CPR. The ambulance will take some time to get there so you'll need to keep her breathing."_

_"BUT SHE ISN'T!" Castiel shouted into the phone, tears falling, chest shaking._

_"She swallowed water. You need to get her to cough it up. Too long and she'll be gone. Now I want you to press into her chest with the heel of your palm about two inches in."_

_Castiel set the phone on the sink and shakily pushed into Anna's chest five times before he heard the woman on the phone talking again._

_"What?" he asked shakily and held the phone to his ear again._

_"I said to tilt her head back and listen for breathing. If she isn't, pinch her nose and cover her mouth with your own and breath into her until her chest rises. Do this twice and then pump her chest again."_

_Castiel hastily threw the phone down again and did as the woman instructed. Nothing was happening. Why wasn't anything happening? Anna felt colder, looked paler, Castiel wondered how he was supposed to save her life, how he was supposed to breathe for her if he felt he couldn't breathe himself. He was hyperventilating. The phone buzzed again in speech and Castiel grabbed at air a few times before he picked it up again._

_"H-Huh?"_

_"I asked if you're all right, if the child is all right."_

_"Anna still isn't breathing," Castiel cried into the phone. "It's all my fault. She's dead."_

_"We don't know that yet, sir. You've been very brave."_

_"I don't feel brave."_

_Just then there was rapid knocking on the door and Castiel carried Anna so not to leave her alone again. He opened the door, vaguely aware that he probably looked more dead than the child lying limply in his arms. The medics took her from there, carrying her to the back of an ambulance and asking if Castiel would ride along. Castiel felt void of a mind as he followed the men into the ambulance and sat beside one of them as a man performed CPR on her differently than Castiel had. He pressed in less and breathed slower. Castiel felt incompetent._

_At the hospital they had called Naomi whom had showed up with tearstained cheeks and demands to see her sister. After that, Castiel received the news as if it was a test._

**Please put the following events in the chronological order they happened in the passage.**

**Castiel got the bubble bath for Anna.**

**Anna asked for bubble bath.**

**Anna drowned in his absence.**

**Anna was pronounced dead.**

**Castiel called 911; despite his efforts, the child could not be saved.**

* * *

_Naomi blamed Castiel._

_But that's all right because Castiel also blamed Castiel._

_And what started as verbal insults and cries and threats turned physical; it left Castiel shaken and afraid, feeling frail. He spent too much time alone now. School was an in-and-out event and home was a game of hide-and-please-don't-seek-me-out. Castiel was obviously bigger, stronger than Naomi in physicality, though without the mind and will to fight back, he found himself battered and broken in his room. Sometimes he welcomed it because it's only what he deserved._

_But sometimes he ran._

_Fear ripped away at him and his legs carried him of their own volition away and to his bedroom in the middle of a beating. He would hold his swollen cheek in his bloodied hand and cry silently to himself only to hear a fist beat on the door over and over and over._

_"Come out here!" Naomi would shout, her voice laced and driven with nothing but anger, worthless anger that holds us all by our feet._

_Castiel would shake his head with the strange, chilling feeling that Naomi could see him. He would hug his body closer and cry into his shirt. As if what he put himself through wasn't enough, the world added a dose of vengeful sister to the mix. The door would rattle and the door would shake until Naomi gave up._

_It was a month after the last of many of those instances when Naomi realized she had keys to locked doors._

_The door flung open and Castiel's eyes were wide and crazed and frightened. Naomi's firm hand gripped Castiel's hair and forced him to look at her. Castiel, seventeen years old and crying like a child, held onto her wrist in some attempt to defend himself. He could easily push her across the room, but then where would he be? A murderer and one who beats his sister?_

_"I loved her!" Naomi cried, shaking. "I loved her, and you killed her!"_

_"I'm sorry!" Castiel begged, "I can't find the right way to apologize to you, but I loved her, too, and I didn't mean to—"_

_Castiel was pushed to the ground and he felt Naomi hitting him over and over in weak punches that accumulated. Physically, they weren't that painful. Naomi was no body builder. It was the fact that his older sister, one who he saw as his mother for the longest time, felt enough hatred for him to want to hurt him. His heart bruised a darker color than his cheek._

_"Don't you dare try to talk about her!" Naomi screamed at him. "You can't pretend to love her, you cold-blooded monster!"_

_Castiel rolled and turned his back to her, unable to face the true accusations. The insults were often weak or unoriginal, and Castiel tore at his mind in wonder how they hurt as they did. Naomi was crazed with the soul of what she'd thrust into herself suddenly missing, or in her mind, taken from her. In short, she felt as Castiel did when Meg left him. Maybe worse. Her heart is too tightly locked for even the author of this story to try to peek inside._

_"It should have been you," Naomi cried at his bruised skin and trembling body._

_Castiel wept because it should have._

_Castiel spiraled into something dark. Something that you don't just wake up one day and suddenly you're okay. He fell into the abyss of what he didn't even care enough to name and what he choked himself with, what he killed himself with or wanted to. A life for a life was the saying, and though it was just an empty promise, Castiel found himself wanting to make that trade. His life was worthless and low, Anna was too young. Castiel tried to drown himself in the bathtub a month and a day after her death, but his body was selfish and forced his head above the water. Anna was selfless, yet another reason to add to a list of the world of reasons why Anna should have lived and Death's greedy claws should have grabbed him instead._

_He was distracted in school, but no one cared. Eyes would glance at him for just a moment and then cast away like a pole in the sea. His average dropped from all A's to straight C's and then scraped down to a D. Castiel couldn't bring himself to care, about that or about anything. Eventually his eyes had run dry and he lost the will to even cry. He felt empty. He lay awake in a bed of foolishness and darkness greeting him like an old friend. His eyes downcast, he forgot to buckle his seatbelt in the car and look both ways crossing the road. One day he found himself wishing the car would crash. The thought was not cast away._

_Come graduation year, Castiel was completely lost. His eyes were dull and his face was and arms were painted and littered with violent bruises and cuts. He found himself welcoming each time Naomi would hit him. He was a fine China doll, painted and cracked and left alone to fall victim to dust and mud. Castiel try to smile anymore. He had nightmares where Naomi had red hair and she was stronger. He convinced himself they were dreams even if he gasped and woke up screaming._

_Halfway through his senior year, Naomi had stopped being violent._

_Castiel's bruises healed slowly, and as they did, Naomi seemed more at ease. She was more welcoming, and Castiel hated it with a passion that could not be understood. His heart stopped aching in his chest a while ago, and now he just felt the numb of ice frozen over. His eyes were glazed and he was gone. He dropped a dinner plate that night and looked expectantly to Naomi for her to yell at him._

_Naomi stood from her chair, walked over slowly, and knelt in front of him to collect the pieces._

_"Stop!" Castiel screamed at her. Her face was tired and shocked as her eyes rose to his face. "Yell at me!"_

_Her lower lip trembled. "No."_

_"Hit me!"_

_"No!"_

_"Tell me I'm worthless!"_

_"You aren't!"  
"Tell me I'm stupid and worthless and a monster and a murderer and no one needs me, no one wants me, and especially not you! Especially not me! Tell me it's my fault! I DESERVE IT!" Castiel screamed out, the first spark of emotion igniting in his chest for the first time in years._

_"I was a horrible person!" Naomi covered her face. "I realize that now and I was abusive to the only sibling I have left!"_

_"I'm sorry!" Castiel sobbed as if he could not hear her words. She would never forgive him._

_"I've forgiven you!"_

_He is undeserving of forgiveness. He'd learned that long ago. His mind and heart closed off the world some time ago and he relived the same months over and over, starting at Meg and ending somewhere with Naomi. He locked himself in his bedroom most nights and screamed in memory of what Naomi used to do to him. She used to throw things. Furniture, lamps, pots, plates, once boiling water. Naomi left the house when he screamed. Some nights she cried and knocked on his door, and with a small voice asked if he was all right when she knew he wasn't._

_Naomi blamed herself._

_But that's all right because Castiel also blamed Castiel._

* * *

_It was well after graduation, during a flashback that Castiel bolted from his room and ran from the house. He didn't stop running for half a mile, and after that he continued walking with eyes crazed and terrified. His chest beat out of his chest and fluttered around uncomfortably. He didn't know where he was when he stopped walking. It was dark when he arrived at the front of a restaurant. He was vaguely aware that he was no longer at his home._

_He heard a distantly familiar voice. Castiel turned and saw a man in an apron and a nametag that read_ Balthazar _—_

_"Cas?"_

_Castiel broke in the arms of a stranger of a man._


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel woke to shouting the next morning, the empty space of the mattress holding him by the arm in an attempt to keep him in bed just a bit longer. The room was not cold, but warmth was not something that came easily to Castiel's body. Everything felt chilled. The voices were muffled by the door and there was no theatrical silhouette to watch. Putting aside the blankets that clung to his skin, he found his legs weak yet usable. He stumbled in his first step and flung a hand through his hair in a pitiful attempt to tame it.

"You're his doctor!" he could make out the shout, growing louder and greater with each step he took, closer, closer, "You're supposed to fix him!"

"You were his  _sister_!"

Castiel realized it was Naomi and Dean whom were talking (though  _talking_ is a light term.). Their voices clashed like swords in a battle. Castiel felt his body shaking at the sight of her (he could not think her name,) and still he felt tight and locked so that he could not be stronger, could not be weaker. Dean's back to him, he kept arguing as if his presence was naught. Naomi's eyes drifted to him, sad and pitying. Remorseful. Guilty.

"You were supposed to  _love him_ ," Dean finished in a tired voice, broken and cracking.

Naomi stayed silent, her eyes grabbing onto Castiel like a drowning man with a boat in sight. Dean turned and followed their path.

The atmosphere felt fractured, as if someone had suddenly swung an axe through the thicker air,  _(thicker than what?_  Castiel wondered, and no answer presented itself.) Dean's eyes softened in a sickening way. Sickening to Castiel because they were so obviously speaking of something he was a part of;  _don't stop just because I'm here_ , he wished to say. His lips stayed sealed and chapped.

"Castiel, you should go back to the room," Dean told him.  _What room?_  Castiel wondered, mind sprinting back to the office and makeshift bed.  _Was that supposed to be something comforting?_  Because nothing can be comforting and be so cold. Nonetheless Castiel nodded numbly, leg stuttering in a step backwards.

Dean joined him in the room a few moments of presumable arguments later. The door clicked shut, and though the click was not audible to them, Castiel knew it was there. Castiel was on the mattress and was swallowed by blankets if only it could stop the chill, the shaking. He forbade himself of thinking of the woman out that door, the stranger though it was not so. If only stars could speak they would not be so deceitful. Grant him a wish- if only wishes could be granted. Castiel hardly realized it when Dean was walking towards him. Castiel felt empty, void of all the memories he gave out for free.

"I've never," Dean started softly, "I've never made an impact on someone- I've never  _saved_  anyone before. I see people-" a strong arm pointed shakily to the door, "I see them walk through that door, and then walk out the same. I see them walk in in  _shambles_  and I- you know what I do? I throw  _drugs_ at them _,_ and the illusion of happiness, because the mind is- is too  _complex_ to be changed, too beautiful to look like it  _must_ be changed, and too  _sacred_ for the cowardice of man to change it."

Dean seemed to quiet down after that, and Castiel was at loss for words. He didn't know the response Dean was seeking and so he stay silent. Dean licked his lips and let out a heavy sigh, he continued, "I don't know why I'm saying this either," like the mind-reader he was, "I just- I just want to fix you. I want to look at you and not be scared that tomorrow you're going to break yourself apart because of something that happened to you before anything now- I'll help you get better. Okay? I'll figure out a way."

The words consumed Castiel like he was light and the words were darkness. Completely and utterly. Castiel's sight fluttered and stuttered and buffered, he found the tiles more interesting than the eyes he used to gaze at like they were stars.

"What do you mean 'better?'"

* * *

Dean and Naomi argued often, Castiel noted. Naomi visited every day much to Dean's chagrin. Castiel didn't understand why Dean felt so much resentment towards her; why he stood a step in front of him at all times when Naomi was in sight. It reminded him of an angel, spreading its wings in a defensive stance, portraying to intent to die for the one it is protecting. Castiel didn't know how he felt about that. His heart oozed this gross, sticky substance that would have gotten caught between his fingers like the webbed hands of a frog if it was real.

"You want to know what you did?" Dean had gotten worked up in one particular argument. ( _Argument, argue, that word has become overused._ ) "You have painted each wall with his blood on your hands, crusted under your fingernails- how could you be so-  _despicable_?"

"You don't know me!" Naomi shouted back at him, cliche and yet usable. "You don't know Castiel either!"

"I know enough to say that what you did to him-"

"It wasn't just me! I couldn't have been all me!"

"No," Dean said, his voice sharper than the edge of a sword, "because what you did to him provoked him to believe these lies, that somehow he isn't good enough for you? That what he did was unforgivable? He  _ran from a place that was supposed to be called his home_."

Disgust clung to every word that fell from Dean's lips. An indescribable rage filled his body; it may have been unwanted, Castiel guessed. He felt in awe that someone would defend him in such ways. He felt so small before, so crumpled like a used piece of paper, a failed sketch or drawing and tossed away (maybe even ripped and shredded) that no longer held any value. He wondered how he would have turned out if someone like Dean had been around when he was younger, and he wondered if maybe there was, but he was just too blind to notice them. Blathazar, Samandriel, were they friends of his that may have made him feel protected if only he was more open? He hardly remembered them. Their faces were smoke and their voices were echoes lost in the endless stream of memories discarded in corners of his mind.

Castiel always thought his life would be like a superhero movie.

Either A: He would be a great person, someone who was depended on by others and one who brought joy and safety to others.

Or B: He would be weak and helpless, waiting on the man to come save him from the villainous plots of another.

In reality, his life was nothing like this, or at least, it was closer to scenario B. He was helpless, lost, and broken like a vase painted over at the cracks. He belatedly realized maybe he wanted someone to ask him what was wrong and offer to help him. He broke further, blemishes multiplying by the second and bruises were too beautiful a color for him to be ashamed of them. He accepted his fate: there were just some people that didn't deserve to be saved, somehow they weren't good enough or too wrong to ever,  _ever_ , think "maybe they need help."

Maybe he was waiting for Dean.

His whole life, maybe he was waiting for Dean.

He felt pulled from the ashes- ashes he never realized were there- and suddenly he can walk and stand and run and sprint and jump and fly. Though he'd never fallen while flying, it was interesting to try. Ropes were tied to his ankles and his wrists and looped around his neck and suddenly they were all cut and everything was bright. He would have never believed Heaven existed before, and if it did, it was certainly something twisted. He lived his life believing in angels that were standing beside him- they all held his wrists and forced a blade in his palm and told him to fight because that's who he was: a warrior of The Lord. Castiel never knew what he was fighting for, he never felt like had his own choice, any free will at all, and suddenly (who he thought were) his brothers vanished. An outstretched palm was his only warning before he was ripped from the roots that held him captive. He was freed.

Naomi visited Castiel alone one day. Dean was in his office with another patient.

"Hey," she said softly. Castiel didn't recognize her.

"Hello," he said, nonetheless.

"Doctor Winchester doesn't like me very much."

"Yeah."

The silence fell over them like a sheet.

"How are you?"

"Fine."

Their words were once again eaten by the air. Castiel sat in front of a Scrabble board, pushing the pieces around absentmindedly. He let out a small breathe and made a few words with the letters. He wasn't sure how this game worked. Naomi sat beside him, the Sorry board the claimed Castiel's heart and soul all but a month ago sitting with the game pieces strewn and fallen.

"Castiel," Naomi started in that same cautious, quiet tone. "You know I'm sorry, right?"

Castiel hardly glanced at her. "For what?" is what he said not in a voice of resentment, wishing for her to say it completely, but instead curiosity as if he truly had no idea what she was apologizing for.

"My mission was supposed to be to raise you as if you were my own son," she whispered seemingly to no one. Perhaps herself. It doesn't really matter. "I don't know when I forgot that."

Castiel looked at the woman, recognition just hardly sparking, but not enough to make an intelligible response.

"Are you supposed to be someone I know?"

The muscles around Naomi's mouth twitched and she blew out a huge breath of air, hanging her head. Her hands found their place in her hair and when they decided to leave, her hair was messed up and sticking up in a certain resemblance to Castiel's. She stood and sighed again, loss at what to say.

"I don't know. I guess not," she sputtered. "I hardly know myself."

Castiel shrugged as he heard the door open and shut, the air rushing around him. Something flickered inside him like a light switch, but he couldn't quite see through the darkness. He threw around more letter pieces and spelled out words on the Scrabble board.

* * *

Dean said "Good morning," when Castiel walked in for his regularly scheduled therapy session. Castiel's eyes gazed over the barren tiles that used to be hidden under blankets and a mattress before his eyes dropped and he sat down.

"I had to put the stuff back," Dean explained. "I, uh, had other patients and stuff. Didn't think a bed in the office is very professional-looking."

Castiel nodded uselessly and folded his hands in his lap, his mind boarded up and sealed tightly under sticky, wet glue that had yet to dry. Dean was talking some more, but Castiel was too tired to listen. Half of him wanted to go back to sleep, and the other half wanted to disappear. The woman stopped coming a week ago, but Castiel didn't really care. He felt a flick on the head.

"You with me?"

"Yeah."

Dean started talking again and Castiel actually made an effort to listen. He recapped what he said while Castiel hadn't listened (" _Now that you've gotten out what's been haunting you, you can start to heal,"_ ) as if he was a bruise on a bigger body. Castiel nodded with hazy eyes and hazy thoughts and hazy breath if breath can be hazy, and when Dean asked what Castiel thought about something, Castiel gave a generic answer. There was a ladybug on the wall behind Doctor Winchester that looked much more interesting.

"Well?"

Castiel blinked.

Dean huffed and rolled back in his chair. "You're really out of it today."

"I am?"

"I asked what your plans are."

Castiel blinked.

"For the future."

Castiel blinked.

"Okay, I'm going to need  _something_ in return. I feel like I'm talking to a brick wall."

Castiel's expression stayed unchanged as he replied slowly, "I have not thought of it."

" _Really_? You just think you're going to stay  _here_ your whole life?"

Castiel looked back at the ground. He didn't have a response. Truly and honestly, Castiel had never thought that far ahead. It never really occurred to him that he would be within those cold walls until he died there, until years, ages in the future when he was old and wrinkled and spent or maybe even taken victim by a disease. Castiel wrung his hands. He wasn't sure if he wanted that, but he had no alternative.

"I don't know," Castiel said softly, "how to get out if I were to. If I want to, even. I don't have a home or anywhere else to go."

The silence between them was uncomfortable and Castiel had the impulse to rush out of his chair and throw himself out the door and into his room again. That was something that started becoming a greater and greater comfort to him: his room. He started to resent the company of others. There was too much room for error. Too much area to be colored grey or black when Castiel needed white.

Dean cleared his throat when twenty-four seconds ran from the room. "Well, to leave, you'd have to take a competence test to make sure you're…" Dean trailed off, and despite his efforts to keep the word unspoken, Castiel heard it.  _Sane_. "Safe."

"All right," is what Castiel responded with.

"All right," Dean muttered and looked down. "And, you know, it's cool and stuff if you were to- hang out at my place or something until you could find your own place and things like that. Maybe. Like if you wanted of course, I don't want to be weird or anything… Yeah that's weird…"

"I couldn't," Castiel shook his head. "It's too much to ask of you."

"It isn't!" Dean said quickly. Castiel's head snapped up and Dean's face reddened and he cleared his throat again. "It isn't," he repeated quieter with feigned reluctance.

"Truly?"

Dean nodded. "I think you'd probably do fine on the test and everything. You said you couldn't see your brothers anymore?"

Something about the way Dean said  _brothers_ sounded plastic. Castiel said, "it's been nearly a month since I'd…" Castiel stopped and his lips started again on their own, sounding like the static of a radio station. "Hallucinated."

Dean's lips quirked in a smile and Castiel's stomach churned.

_I think people like you are special. Like you can see things that no one else can._

So Castiel was ordinary now, wasn't he?

"That's good. Good. So you really want to do this? Want me to schedule you for a test?"

Castiel wondered if Dean would like him even if he wasn't special.

"Yeah," he said despite himself. "I'll try."

* * *

The test was in three weeks. Castiel laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling as if it had all the answers. He wondered if he could drive a saw through the plaster and stare up at the stars that night. Was that something a sane person thought? Castiel banished the thought. Dean would probably frown upon him if he asked him for a saw. His breath felt heavy in his throat as he pushed it up and sucked more in. Everything felt mechanical.

The walls were thin, and Castiel could hear a man outside his door talking loudly. It was a one-sided conversation. Everyone on Castiel's floor was schizophrenic. People liked to organize things like that. There was loud laughter and more loud talking. The man outside sounded like Garth, someone in Castiel's activities group. People who were crazy like him and Castiel didn't need to make friends since they already them.

The loud talking soon turned to shouting as a nurse tried to ask him to quiet down because it was night and people slept at night, (well not really, but the nurses seem to like to think people actually sleep at night. This thought made Castiel smile.) Garth didn't seem to want to be quiet, arguing that he could talk with (he said a name that Castiel couldn't make out) as loudly as he wanted to because they were friends.

Castiel walked to the door and cracked it open to watch as if it were some reality show on the TV of the day room. Castiel realized with a sense of accomplishment that it was, indeed, Garth. He was admitted by his school's guidance counselor. According to rumor, he was only seventeen. The shouting was a lot louder without the barrier of the door but Castiel ignored the impulse to cover his ears. At the height of the argument, Garth slung an arm and hit the nurse across the girl held her face for a moment, dark hair covering her left eye and then she pressed a button on her belt to call for help. Garth was already apologizing, saying that (now that Castiel was closer he could hear the name) Kevin told him to fight.

Charlie was the "back up" the first nurse called, apparently, because she was behind Garth with a needle in his arm.

"Everything's spinnin'- Kevin-" Garth mumbled out and his words dropped out of his lips like orange juice that he forgot to swallow.

Charlie asked "Tessa" if she was alright and Tessa nodded. After that Garth was taken around the corner and Castiel couldn't see him anymore. Tessa stood and tucked her hair behind her ear and stopped at Castiel's door. Her cheek was red.

"Castiel? What are you doing?"

Castiel shrugged and closed the door. He went back to his bed and pulled the thin sheet up over his face. He wondered if he had ever been like Garth. He probably had.

Castiel laughed to himself. There was no "probably" about this.

* * *

Castiel met with Dean for their session like he always had, but it felt different. Like in three weeks, either Castiel would never see him again or he would be chained to this place. Despite Dean's arguments of  _of course you'll see me when you get outta here_  and  _don't think like that, you're going to pass the test, alright?_  Castiel wasn't sure if he believed him. Dean gave him a blinding grin when he came in, except it wasn't blinding because it didn't emit light to the point of disability. Dean said that it was a figure of speech, and Castiel nodded like he understood because he figured the mentally competent were supposed to understand things like that.

Dean took him off the medicine that was supposed to keep his "episodes" to a minimum since Castiel had faced the cause of them already. Castiel nodded as Dean shuffled through papers. Dean explained that he wouldn't take Castiel off his anti-depressants at the moment because Castiel could have withdrawals, which was what sick people had, and Castiel wasn't sick (which was what Dean's trying to prove to a guy who wears a suit and holds a pen like a knife.)

Dean spoke animatedly, huge grins and excited tones. How great it would be for Cas when he finally gets out of here, except that what if Castiel never gets out? And if he did, he hadn't been living around actual, sane, judgemental  _people_ for nearly two years, and the times he was around people he couldn't remember at all. (Could competent people remember their life? Castiel believed the answer was yes.) Castiel voiced this to Dean.

"Well- You're different," is how Dean replied.

" _How?_ " Castiel asked exasperatedly.

"Well, I won't go into detail, keep it basic," Dean leaned forward, elbows on his desk, "Basically, people can get schizophrenia from birth, disability of the mind, or like you, PTSD. Before you ask, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It seems to me that all that's-" Dean stumbled over his words, "uh- wrong, per se, with you is that you have a past you can't get over. Your mind acted in self defense and created an alternate reality for you. Writers do this all the time when they write stories and novels, same with artists when they paint or musicians when they play- Hey, I bet you'd be great at art or something like that!"

Castiel shrugged. "I paint in the activities room."

"Do you?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

Dean was giving him that look again, that endearing sparkle in his eyes. It made Castiel feel warm. He looked away before he started blushing, but he probably already had because Dean's lips quirked up.

"So, yeah, you're all right to be out and about in the world. There are tons of PTSD people around, walking and talking. You'll probably be required to go to therapy sessions like you always have, but it's a step forward right?"

"I guess."

Dean pulled a game box from under his desk and put it on top of the papers he used to be looking through. Castiel blinked and looked at the Sorry board being set up before him. His eyes danced between the game and Dean's focused eyes. The red pawns were missing, and Castiel realized it was the original game board that he took the pawn from. He thought someone would have thrown it away or something since there was a new game board with all the right pieces the next week.

Dean had the yellow pieces and looked at Castiel pointedly.

"I- Um-" Castiel patted his pockets. "I- I don't have them." He didn't feel panicked like he had before. It was just an acknowledgment. Castiel wondered where he left them.

"Just take another color, then," Dean said amusedly.

Castiel had a handful of green pawns.

"I don't even remember how this game works," he mumbled to himself as he put the pawns down at start.

Dean was smiling. Castiel's heart thundered away when he smiled.

"Have you ever tried…" Dean said, voice teasing as he reached into the box, "Reading the instructions?"

Castiel blinked, dumbfounded. "Oh- Uh- No."

Dean's smile stretched wider, "All right, I'll spoil you and read them to you."

Dean started reading out the instructions, and Castiel listened intently, as if his life depended on it. He'd played this game ever since he'd arrived at the hospital and he'd never known how to play. It seemed silly now that he looked back at it. Dean's lips moved into shapes as he spoke.

Absent questions in the air, they played the board game. It was quick and mindless, Dean won easily and Castiel liked how Dean's face lit up like a child's on Christmas day. Castiel wasn't sure why exactly Dean brought the board game. It was fun, though. After one game Dean put away the board, claiming something about if they played again Dean might not win and then he'd be grumpy for his next session. Sometimes Castiel forgets that Dean isn't just his. This is his job. There are twelve other Castiel's coming through that door right after he leaves.

Castiel wondered if he left, would he ever see Charlie again. They weren't particularly close, but Castiel would probably still miss her. She was the only person aside from Dean that Castiel actually spoke to, unless you counted his brothers- sisters- hallucinations? Whatever it was that they were? Whatever it was that Castiel was, what if he was a hallucination of someone else's? He wondered if hallucinations had consciousness-

But it was getting too confusing so Castiel threw his thoughts away. They weren't wasted, they were used for a period of time. They were appreciated, but unneeded. Castiel realized Dean was talking again only because his lips were moving again.

 _Cas?_ he mouthed.

"Huh?" Castiel shook himself away from his thoughts. They were too complicated.

Dean laughed. "Don't go zoning out on me. I said we had ten minutes left and wanted to know if you had anything to share."

Castiel shrugged. The first day Dean ran out of time, and today he was counting the minutes. Maybe Castiel was reading too much into this.

They sat in silence for a few seconds. Dean expected him to say something, but Castiel didn't know what to say, so he sat with his hands folded. Castiel wondered if competent people said things easil-

"You know you're ready, right?" Dean broke into his thoughts and stepped over the shards. "For this test, I mean. I wouldn't get your hopes up unless I believed you could do it."

Castiel blinked down at the floor, eyelashes hiding the color of his eyes. Honestly? Castiel doesn't think he'll pass at all. Why would he be in the hospital if he was competent? Comptent, competent, that word is uttered over and over and fucking  _over_ again, on this loop, this cycle inside of Castiel's mind. Castiel felt he might go insane just by the pressure of this test. It shouldn't be stressful. Dean told him that. He could pass easily by just being himself, but what if being himself is what keeps him there?

"Hey," Dean said, voice soft but convictive. "Don't think too much. You'll do great."

Like the test is tomorrow. It felt like it even though it was in two weeks and a day. Not that Castiel was counting.

* * *

There was a staircase in front of Castiel that never used to be there, and he can't see the top. Railing twisted and unusable, how the hell is Castiel ever supposed to get to what he can't even see, what he hardly wants to attempt? There was rice for lunch, other stuff, too, but Castiel didn't like chicken wings. They were too dry. There was a girl across the room with a plate full of them, though. She was admitted four weeks ago for trying to get people to drink her blood (she succeeded a few times); her name was Ruby. For the first time in who knows how long, Castiel was looking at the other people in the room. Now, he wondered how he ever ignored them. He knew most of their names somehow, probably from group therapy sessions or activities, but he never spoke to them.

Garth was sitting two seats away from him, muttering to someone who supposedly sat beside him. He ate his rice with his hands like he ate his chicken wings.

"Hello," Castiel tried, voice low and raspy like it always was. It was like he was hearing his voice for the first time, noting everything he was. Maybe it was some mind trick, like Dean was trying to convince him he was mentally "safe" and now Castiel's own head is trying to do the same.

Garth glanced at him momentarily, but it was like he looked right through him. Castiel realized he was probably looking at Kevin. His assumption was confirmed when Garth smiled and nodded, "Yeah, I know," he said, "Why can't-" and he cut off. Castiel listened to silence before Garth started again. "Well it isn't like it's your fault."

Castiel wondered what wasn't Kevin's fault. He watched rice fall between the spaces of Garth's fingers and picked up his tray and dropped it in the trash. They were paper, have been ever since someone knocked out a girl with the hard plastic ones. Castiel had a therapy session with Dean in two hours and decided to spend the time between that and now in the activities room. He realized it had been a few weeks since he'd done anything other than play Sorry or lay on the bed in his room.

The hallway always smelled differently than the rest of the hospital; it smelled like paint. Even though painting was only one of the things you could do, the gross tempera paint aroma always defeated anything else. Castiel heard there once was a cooking room for people interested in the culinary arts, but I'm sure you can guess where that ended up going.

So Castiel passed a patient with purple paint over her hands and knees and chest, accompanied by a nurse to the restroom, and then he walked into the activities room. Like usual, most people were drawing and painting. It was the easiest thing for people to do, required less thought, allowed one to get messy and sling things around without repercussion. Castiel sat in front of the TV with other people watching numbly. He wasn't sure what else to do. It was really loud in the room.

There was a week left until his competence test. Glancing around the room, Castiel wondered if anyone else was awaiting their own test, if anyone had failed theirs, if anyone left today to go get theirs. What was happening in the week Castiel waited? Were there other people lined up or were there just no people to test him? What made someone qualified to test him- Who was it that stood up with ink over their hearts and declared that a certain woman or man was too stupid, too insane, unsafe to be around others? Castiel would like to meet them.

Instead he folded his hands in his lap and watched an animated bird run from a coyote, mind buzzing like the bees he once adored, and awaited the long stretch of days before he could be condemned for life to the hospital or cut loose into the confusion of the outside world.

* * *

It wasn't for life, Dean told him the next day. The soonest you could retake the competency test was in a year and a half and with a therapist and doctor recommendation. Still, it felt like life. If his entire life he allowed himself to remember was the two years he was in the hospital plus a little outside, it's a lifetime for him.

Unlike the stretching two weeks before that, the last week passed so quickly Castiel couldn't acknowledge the days. Dean noticed his nervousness two days before the test, and the entire therapy session was spent trying to calm him down. It helped a little. Dean ran through a series of practice questions that were all along the lines of "What's your name?" "Do you know where you are?" "Do you know why you're here?" Dean also asked him to remember three objects at the beginning and asked him what they were again at the end. Castiel was asked to count down from 100 by fives, it wasn't too difficult. Maybe Dean was just trying to boost his confidence?

"When's the big test?" Dean asked him with a smile even though Castiel was sure he already knew since he scheduled it.

"After- After this," Castiel stuttered out. His heart was beating far too quick.

"Awesome!" Dean cheered. "You'll do great. I know you will."

"Don't jinx me," Castiel muttered dryly. Dean laughed.

The rest of the session was a blurr. Castiel can't even attempt to remember what happened. All he could hear was his heart beating in his ears and breath rushing in and out of his lungs. It was over too quickly. Someone messed with the clock, something like that, because Dean shooed him out the door and said "good luck" probably about ten more times.

Like Castiel expected, a man in a suit and a pen as a knife opened the door a few hallways down and smiled icily for him to come in. Castiel sat down stiffly and watched each movement he made. Everything moved slowly, and his words were thick like syrup.

"Are you ready?"

Castiel nodded dumbly.

The man clicked his pen deafeningly, glasses perched on his nose.

"All right. Can you tell me your name, and the reason you're here?"


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel's bare feet were thunder on the cold tile floor (why was the floor alway so cold?) His breath rushed in and out of his tired lungs as if pulled by the tide of the sea, completely and beyond his control. His hair was disheveled and sticking out of place. What was the use of keeping up appearances in a place where everyone looked right through you anyways? His clothes were white as the wall behind him and the light ahead he could see from his eyes- he rushed and rushed and opened the door to Dean's office without any warning or knocking. Dean was alone in the room, scratching away at a piece of paper with a pen. Or was it a pencil?

"Dean-" Castiel gasped. His breath ran away from him. "I did it- I passed- the test- I  _passed_."

Dean had a plasticy face on of surprise, and Castiel figured he'd already known, (of course he had), and Dean was always a terrible actor. It was like when he put on his doctor-voice. Nonetheless, his eyes were bright like the evening star and proudness flickered in and out of his being. He was proud of  _him_.

"What?" we've been over this. He already knew. Don't pretend you didn't. "Really?" Sigh. "That's- That's  _amazing_!"

Still the words made Castiel's heart beat faster. His face was flushed from running and his chest had started to calm, air starting to sit heavy in his lungs. His eyes were still wide, still vibrant blue, that blue that captured Dean's like the grass met the blue sky horizon. It'd been nearly  _two months_  of waiting for the results, two finger-nail-biting months, moons tossing and turning at night, for they couldn't sleep either. Now they could though. Now the night fell upon them.

Dean's pen lay on its side, abandoned, and only the soft sounds of people passing around the corner tittered up inside the walls of the room. Castiel still stood in the doorway. Dean looked at him expectantly, like he was supposed to walk a step more and into the room. Perhaps he would, and he did, he closed the door behind him and sat in the chair. The room felt warmer, oh so warm with his feet picked up from the floor and tucked under his legs in the chair. Dean watched him, and Castiel tried to think back to the first day he'd come in. Did the same intensity ring through Dean's eyes then or did something in Castiel bring that out?

Castiel pressed his lips into a small smile and glanced down at the floor. He didn't know what to say. Meeting Dean- everything after- it felt like an adventure; something to be recorded. He was so grateful, so blessed to have these memories buzzing around his mind, behind his eyes, behind his hair. He patted the pockets of his thin hospital-given clothes. He couldn't find the Sorry pieces. He oddly didn't care.

"So what are you going to do now?" Dean asked quietly. "Like… What do you want to be?"  _When you grow up_  was tacked to the end and taken down again. Castiel was already grown up, or so he looked.

"I don't know," Castiel said quietly.

Dean didn't seem nearly as discouraged as Castiel was. "That's all right," he said, "We'll figure it out."

 _We_.

"What are we, Dean?" Castiel couldn't help but asking.

Slow songs filtered up from the floor and Castiel could have sworn to see them. The silence between them was soft like a kitten's coat, and instead of nervousness that should have squeezed Castiel's arm, it was comfort. He didn't need Dean to respond. It didn't matter what Castiel was to Dean, for Castiel knew what Dean was to him. Dean was his  _everything_.

"What do you want to be?" he asked quietly.

"Don't do that," Castiel almost laughed, almost yelled. He spoke the words quietly, though. He didn't do either of what he almost did. "Don't play doctor, play therapist to me-" he stopped himself, as if his words had been cut from his throat. "Be true to me."

"What I want to be to you?" Dean clarified, though it seemed hesitant, "What I am already? What you are?"

All these fucking labels, meaningless, oh so  _meaningless_. They didn't matter. Love was not something in words, but in the heart and in actions.

"You're mine," Castiel said without any doubt. "You're everything that could ever hold a place in my life. Everything I could ever want."

Dean dragged a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair crookedly. He breathed in deeply and muttered something that sounded like "fuck" but could have easily have been something more eloquent though Castiel doubted it.

"When do you leave?" Dean changed topics. It was too heavy.

Castiel licked his dry lips and sighed. "Two days. Later. I don't know. I'm allowed to leave whenever. I'm-" the word felt so  _strange_ on his lips, "Sane. Safe."

Dean nodded, eyes downcast and face pensive. "Do you know where you're going? Where you're staying?"

Castiel's heart caught in his throat with a weak butterfly net in a moment of nervousness. "W-Well… You said something about staying at your house, or- if you weren't serious-"

"I was!" Dean interjected before Castiel could continue. Blue eyes wide like the sky behind the window. "I mean- Yeah, I was serious about it. If you wanted to."

Another small smile, painted in watercolor over Castiel's skin. "I'd like to."

Dean returned it. "I'd like you to, too."

The smile grew bigger and Dean's as a result. There was a soft tapping noise and it took a few seconds to for Castiel to realize someone was knocking on the door. Dean's wrist flung up in front of his face and he said, "Shit- I have a patient coming in now. We can talk about this later, all right?"

Castiel nodded, a small nod, and he stood. The door opened just before he reached it and a thin boy with dark, crazed eyes and slumped shoulders trudged in and sat heavily in the chair across from Dean. He didn't blink or even recognize that Castiel was in the room, and so Castiel left without another word.

He closed the door to his bedroom, or what used to be, and looked upon it. It was home to him, for the longest time, it was.

Perhaps it's time to find a new home, though.

* * *

Everything felt so surreal after that. Castiel didn't have much to pack up, just one or two drawings he made in the activities room and didn't want to part with. Everything else was owned by the hospital, and he wasn't too attached to anything anyways. He sat on his bare bed, stripped of sheets to be washed for a new patient. He was leaving when Dean's shift was over. He stared through the empty space of the room, as if it would whisper back to him like it once did. He could almost see the outline of Meg's or Gabriel's figure if he tried hard enough, but he didn't. It wasn't sane to want to live in the mind instead of the real world. Castiel wondered how the real world could be remotely as nice as any kind of reality the mind could create. Maybe he'd draw more or write another universe. Those were temporary escapes.

His hands wove together like thread in his lap. He'd worn these same hospital clothes, white or blue or grey like the movies. There didn't use to be distributed clothes like this, but once maybe a few years ago a girl used her hair ribbon and belt to hang herself in her room, and in other occasions long-sleeved shirts were used to hurt people, so now they just wore the same short-sleeved, thin material, shirt and pants with elastic waist bands.

He wasn't sure how long exactly it was when Dean knocked on the door of his room. His head snapped up, heart already beating faster and faster and faster, skipping like a scratched record, Dean opened the door.

"Ready?" he asked like Castiel hadn't been ready before he'd knocked. Castiel nodded quickly and stood up.

Castiel followed Dean through the hallway. There was this thing squirming up inside his ribcage and banging around; Castiel didn't know it it was excitement or nervousness or something else. Everyone else in the hospital was in their room. There was a curfew. There was a woman at the desk, typing at a computer and she smiled at Dean and Castiel as they passed her. Castiel wondered if Dean had said something to her about them leaving today.

The door opened like a fault through the earth's crust. Suddenly hit with a new type of air, hot and humid, chattering and horns honking and shouting around the streets. A man in a suit waved his arm and yelled something and a yellow car with the word TAXI on the side pulled up next to him. The man got in. Dean was walking along the sidewalk and Castiel followed closely by his side with his eyes wide and taking in everything around them. He hadn't seen the outside world for what felt like his entire life, or what he allowed himself to remember. He'd been outside in the garden at the hospital, but it hadn't been hardly this noisy, this chaotic.

The noises drowned out as they got closer to the parking garage, though they were still a dull buzz in the background. He followed Dean to a black car, and pulled the door open after Dean had already climbed in. It felt like he was dreaming, though everything felt so vivid. How would one go about living in a dream? Such a monstrous change, how to adapt? Dean was talking, idle chatter, about how the car was a 1967 Chevy Impala and how he loved it. He asked Castiel what type of music he liked, and Castiel shrugged.

Everything was moving too fast, too quick, one moment Castiel was back in his bedroom (except that it wasn't anymore) and the next he's in a car with lights flashing past them as they drove through night traffic. Castiel still wore his hospital clothes, and Dean told him they'd get him new clothes tomorrow. Dean did most of the talking. Castiel had no idea what to say, where to start when suddenly plunged into ice cold water without knowing how to swim, only that Dean was his life raft.

The car stopped before Castiel could properly understand the concept of being in a car and Dean was already getting out. Castiel did the same. He didn't know what to do other than to do the same. Dean was talking again, grinning and telling about the apartment building. Dean, apparently, lived on the third floor. There was an option for an elevator, but Dean normally walked up the stairs. Castiel did the same.

There were all these new smells, all these new people, people who spoke to other when they spoke, people who ate their food with utensils, people who didn't even blink when a car honked its horn. These people were normal. Castiel wondered who sat down and wrote down the list of things that made a man normal.

The door to Dean's apartment was open, and Castiel realized Dean had gone inside already. He could faintly hear Dean talking. He took a step in and closed the door behind him. The click of the door's lock was thunderous.

"-And here's the kitchen, the bathroom is down there. I've about got your room cleaned up, but it was kind of a mess when I started so it'll need a little work. Cas?"

Castiel looked up suddenly, pulled from his thoughts like someone cut the rope he'd been climbing with. He fell.

"You all right?"

"I'm fine," Castiel insisted. "It's just… All new."

Dean nodded. "Well that's to be expected," he said and motioned for Castiel to follow him. "Come on, I'm gonna show you your room and you can wear something of mine instead of those things."

* * *

Castiel walked out of his room again in a pair of jeans and an T-Shirt that had a band name on it. Even though Dean said the room was still a mess, Castiel rather liked it in comparison with his other one, bare walls and floor. Dean's home felt so right. Castiel never wanted to leave. Dean smiled when he saw him and said, "There you go! You look great!" making Castiel glance back down at his clothes like he'd never seen them before.

Dean insisted on making burgers for Castiel's first night out of the hospital because "hospital food wasn't any good." Castiel helped a little, though most of the time he just stood to the side awkwardly until Dean asked him to pass him a spice or knife or spatula. Like Dean had said ten times while cooking the burgers, they were really amazing. They sat at Dean's dining table which wasn't that big because Dean said he didn't get visitors often.

Dean ate two and Castiel only ate one. After that Dean suggested a movie, but it was almost eleven at night, and going to bed at nine every night in the past, Castiel couldn't stay awake another minute. His eyelashes felt heavier each second.

"Go to bed," Dean laughed softly.

Castiel nodded sloppily, or rather his head just moved around in a way that could have been a nod, and he walked into the room Dean had named his. The blankets smelled like Dean, and Castiel fell into the most comfortable sleep he'd had in a long, long time. He didn't remember turning off the light, but it had turned off sometime since he'd laid down.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel wasn't sure what he was expecting when he woke the next morning. It was quiet, absent of shouting at the early hours of the morning. His eyelids felt heavy; he threw his arm across his chest and fell against his right side, facing the wall. It was another two minutes before he actually sat up and his feet hit the carpet floor. His head ached, dreams spilling out of his ear, already being forgotten. He wandered out of what was now his bedroom and into the opening that showed the kitchen. Dean was no where in sight, which settled in Castiel's stomach like a rock in a swimming pool. He half wanted to call out for him, but stopped himself before he did. Perhaps Dean was still asleep. On the dining room table was a plate of food with a sticky note on it.

_Had to go to work. World doesn't stop, y'know? Tomorrow's my day off, so I'll be home all day then. I'll be home around seven. My home is your home, you can do whatever you want._

_Dean._

Castiel set the note to the side and looked at what Dean made him for breakfast, which was just some scrambled eggs and toast. He ate slowly, thinking of nothing in particular, or perhaps everything at once but it was too chaotic to single anything out, so it felt like nothing. He wasn't really all that hungry, but felt it would be rude not to eat everything. It also made this warm, fuzzy feeling spread through his chest at the thought of Dean actually cooking for him. He pushed it down. It was too unfamiliar.

The house was so quiet it made Castiel uncomfortable. The only sounds were coming from Castiel's feet shuffling across the floor and the clinking of his silverware. He wished there was at least music to put on, and there probably was somewhere, but Castiel wasn't sure where that was or if he'd even feel comfortable going through Dean's things.

And it was at that moment it really hit Castiel that he was in  _Dean's house_. The place Dean was himself- Castiel bet he didn't even use his doctor-voice here. It was just him, not cluttered with papers, it was him, not bombarded with crazed patients. Castiel blinked his eyes, as if seeing the house in a new life. He felt like a drop of poison in a healthy pond. How could Dean let him in his home, nonetheless  _live_ there? Castiel was suddenly hit with the image of Dean inviting other recovered patients and felt his heart sink. Was he charity work? Was Dean just an incredibly nice person to everyone and tomorrow he'd bring home another man or woman that needed a place to stay before they could get up on their own?

Castiel carried his plate to the sink and turned on the water to wash it. The food settled in his stomach sickeningly. He just wanted it gone. Why did he eat again? It was  _so much_  food. He felt the impulse to force it up, but didn't act on it. It would be a waste of Dean's effort. Still, he felt gross, weighted down, the surface of water just above his head. Was he so broken he couldn't even  _eat_? How could Dean ever want anything this estranged and broken in his life let alone his home?

Maybe he should just leave. Save Dean the trouble of letting him go out alone. Maybe Dean was too kind to tell him to leave. Dean was so kind, so, so, kind, it made Castiel want to better himself just for being in the same room as him. He was  _righteous_ , whereas Castiel was nothing. He didn't feel worthy to be in Dean's home. His heartbeat quickened, he just needed to  _leave_. He put on his shoes and ran to the front door, already feeling better as he was outside the apartment.

It wasn't quiet, cars honked, people shouted (though Castiel always heard the second part of the conversation), he could hear kids running and laughing. Castiel walked slowly, eyes wide and taking in everything. It smelled like smoke, and Dean realized there was a man smoking on the first floor. Castiel looked over the edge of the railing, the staircase visible. The man didn't look up like Castiel thought he might. He walked down the stairs and stood out by the front of the apartment, feet anchored and keeping him from wandering too far. He felt like a dog on a leash, the other end tied around Dean's apartment. This is as far as it allowed him.

There was a couple making out on the side of the building, a crowd of people smoking. They had unnaturally colored hair and piercings and markings all over their body. People walked briskly, walked slowly, a couple ran; the commotion calmed Castiel. It felt a bit more natural than the quiet, thought-provoking silence in Dean's home. Admittedly, it did smell better in Dean's home, but Castiel learned to ignore the smell.

He lost himself in the time, just observing everyone. he didn't know how long it was until he heard someone talking to him.

"Hey, man, you okay?" the speech was slightly slurred.

"Yes," Castiel replied, unsure how else to.

"You've been standing there for, like, an hour, dude," a girl next to him said. "What'cha waitin' for?"

"Just observing. I like the noise."

The woman slung her head back and laughed loudly, an odd noise that made Castiel flinch and look at her strangely. "C'mon, man, you look like you gotta let loose. Gotta friend or somethin' you c'n hang out with?"

Castiel took a moment to understand her words and spoke slowly, "He's at work. He'll be back at seven," he recited from the note.

The woman laughed again in that weird way, the man next to him mirrored her. "C'mon, man, you're gonna wait out here the entire time? We'll play with you. What's your name, dude?"

"Castiel," he replied. He felt like there was something telling him just to go back up to Dean's apartment, but the girl spoke again before he could act on it.

"I'm Lilith, and he's Crowley," the woman grinned at him. "C'mon."

She started to walk away, motioning for him to follow. The man followed after her.

"You comin'?"

Castiel looked back at the apartment and back at the man. "I-I shouldn't."

"You'll be back before bedtime," Lilith teased. "'s not that far. Jus' over there."

Castiel nodded slowly and his feet unrooted from the ground as he took a stuttering step. Lilith grinned crookedly as she saw him following and continued around the corner and into an old covering. There were others around, on the ground on old mattresses, grinning dopily, blissed out.

"New guys always have th' bes' time," Lilith told him. "Ya know what'cha like?"

"Um, I- I don't understand," Castiel stuttered out, feeling like he'd regret this. Maybe he already was.

"Y'know, weed, coke, pot, what's your poison?"

"Poison?" Castiel repeated, aghast.

Crowley snorted in a laugh, "He hasn't done anythin' before."

"Not poison, sweetie, it's fun, c'mon I bet you'll like this one," Lilith pulled his wrist to bring him to a table where she pulled out a syringe and filled it with something.

She handed it to him, "There ya go. First dose 's free."

Castiel looked at it skeptically, not even sure what to do with it if he wanted to. He put it back on the table, "I- I should get back. Dean might-"

"You said he'll be back at seven, c'mon, I'm not gonna leave you boring yourself t' death. You just put it-" she picked up the syringe and plunged the needle into his arm. Castiel made a small noise of discomfort. "Like that 'n push the other part down."

She wasn't doing that part for him, looking at him pointedly. Castiel didn't know why, but he pushed the venom in, gasping as the cold substance filtered into his bloodstream. He immediately felt better. This warm, buzzy feeling shot up inside him after a few minutes and he giggled, feeling inexplicably happy. Lilith grinned at him, and wow she was beautiful, the whole  _world_ was beautiful. She put the syringe back and nodded at him.

"Feelin' good?"

"Yeah," Castiel breathed out and laughed again. "Amazing, what- what was that?"

"Ecstasy, man," she grinned, "Makes ya happy, don't it? Want s'mmore?"

Castiel nodded hastily and reached for the syringe before Lilith laughed at him and took the syringe back, "Not now, man, don't wanna overdose ya. I mean tomorrow, in a week, or s'mthin'."

Castiel nodded again and a giggle forced its way up his throat. He didn't even remember how to be sad, like wow, everything was so beautiful, how could anyone ever be sad in such a great world? He sighed and looked around, there were people sleeping and he felt like he wanted to dance, and maybe he did, he didn't really remember.

"That's right, man," Lilith nodded at him. She filled another syringe and put it into her own arm.

Castiel wasn't all that sure of what happened after that, it was all kind of blurry, but it was definitely fun. He remembered dancing more, maybe he made out with a girl or guy or two or four. But who cared? They were all so beautiful, wow, he'd never be upset again, this was  _great_. Lilith wrote her number on his hip, he remembered, But he didn't really remember losing his shirt. His pants stayed on the entire time at least. He thinks.

"Cas?" was that Dean's voice? It sounded like it. Maybe Lilith brought him back like she said she would. He laughed in reply to Dean. He was reeeeeally beautiful, like, forget the other people, they were nice, too, but Castiel wanted  _Dean_.

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

"Shh," Castiel put his hands over Dean's lips and laughed again. "Don't be- Don't be…" he forgot what he was going to say. Oh well, it probably didn't matter that much.

Dean felt stiff under his hands, he wanted more under his hands, he dragged his hands down over his chest, fisting them in his shirt.

"Look at me," Dean told him sternly.

"Are you angry? Why are you angry?"  
Dean grabbed his chin and forced his eyes up to meet him. Castiel laughed again, Dean was holding his face, Castiel wanted to kiss him  _a lot_  more than he kissed the other people.

"Are you- Are you fucking  _high_?" Dean sounded more angry now, and Castiel didn't know why. He'd probably be happier if Castiel kissed him, but he was holding his jaw in a strong grip, Dean was so  _strong_. Castiel's hands ran up and down his arms, feeling his muscles, wow, he  _really_ was strong.

Dean let go of his chin and grabbed his wrist with as much anger if not more as he did before, dragging him up the stairs to his apartment. Castiel laughed again. His vision was a little bit clearer, the happiness fading away a little, but it was still there. He really really  _really_ wanted to kiss Dean if he would just slow down a little. He didn't though, the apartment door flung open and Dean pushed Castiel onto the couch and stomped past him to the computer.

"You're going to sit there while I look up how to get this shit out of your bloodstream," he said, he was really angry. "Now what the hell did you take- Where'd you even  _get_ this shit?"

"Lilith was so nice," Castiel giggled, "She said it'd make me happy, and I am. Dean, do you want some?"

" _No_ , I don't- What  _was_ it?"

"You need to relax," Castiel breathed out, standing behind Dean, putting his chin on his shoulder. His hands ran down Dean's chest again; he had a really nice chest. He tried to lift the shirt up to feel under it; he bet his skin was soft and smooth; he  _wanted_ it, but Dean pulled his shirt back down. Castiel frowned, pressing his lips to Dean's neck. "Deeeean," he whined, moving his hands lower and rubbing up and down his thighs. Why was Dean wearing so much clothes?

Dean pushed him away sharply, "No! Just- Go take a fucking shower, you smell like shit," he shouted, cheeks slightly red.

"Dean-" Castiel tried again.

"Now!"

Castiel looked down with his lower lip stuck out and shuffled his feet to the bathroom. Dean let out a big puff of breath and dragged his hands through his hair, tapping on the keyboard again. Castiel locked the door and turned on the water, stripping out of his clothes. He ended up washing Lilith's number away, he realized sadly when he got out, but he could always just try to find the place again. It wasn't that far. He was starting to feel more clear the longer he stayed in the shower.

The water ran over his body, hot, steaming, almost burning and blistering, His hair fell wet over his eyes as he stood motionless. The more time that passed just made him feel worse and worse and worse, he just wanted to kill himself, he felt so stupid. There was a knock on the door and a voice asked if he was all right, obviously it was Dean. Why did Dean even care about him? Castiel didn't want to respond but Dean knocked again, louder, and called his name.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, loud enough to be heard.

It was quiet for a little while, "Internet said shower, drink lots of water, and exercise," Dean's voice sounded softer.

Castiel didn't reply. He let the water run over him. He never wanted to get out.

"I left another change of clothes on your bed," Dean's voice came muffled through the door again.

Castiel didn't answer again. He sat on the tile floor, the hot water long since run cold. It was another few moments before he heard footsteps leading away. Castiel stood up and turned the water off. pulling the curtain aside. He grabbed a towel and avoided his reflection. He probably looked horrible. He opened the door and was relieved that Dean had retreated to his bedroom or somewhere else. Castiel hurried to the room Dean gave him and dried most of his body off and tugged a shirt over his head then his jeans.

Eager to get it over with, he decided he'd just go to Dean and wait for Dean to start yelling at him about how stupid what he did was. He knocked lightly on Dean's door before he pushed it open and peeked into the room. Dean was on his bed, placing a book back on the bedside table. His eyes were daggerous which only made Castiel feel worse.

"So are you going to do the yelling first or am I going to be apologizing first?" Castiel mumbled.

"I'm not your father," Dean snapped, "I'm not your protective older sibling. If you're going to do stupid shit and kill your body don't fucking let me get in the way of that."

Castiel's heart felt heavy, pulling down his chest and ripping as if it was hanging on a thread. "Sorry," he hardly whispered.

"Are you?" Dean demanded. He was angry like he was before, but seemed more collected, like all the time Castiel was showering Dean was going over what he was going to say. Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but caught his breath when Dean started talking again. "Why the hell did you even leave in the first place?"

Castiel looked down at his feet. Water from his hair dripped onto the floor. "It was too quiet. I liked the noise outside." That was part of the reason anyways. He didn't really deserve to be in Dean's home, especially after today.

"Then you play some fucking music!" Dean yelled. "Open a window! You don't go out and  _shoot up_  or whatever the hell you want to call it!"

Castiel didn't say anything. He felt things jabbing him in the chest.

"Or not," Dean said irritatedly, "I'm not going to care about you if you don't even care about yourself, what's the point in that?"

Castiel still stayed quiet. He felt like crying but he didn't want to make Dean feel guilty. He deserved to be yelled at. The only sound in the room was soft breathing, but Dean's gaze was deafening.

"Have you eaten dinner?" Dean asked quietly, but instead of giving Castiel time to answer, he just laughed humorlessly. "Who am I kidding, you probably haven't even eaten lunch."

Dean pushed past Castiel and into the kitchen. Castiel turned around and followed him slowly. Dean was pulling out some potatoes and cutting them violently. Castiel stood to the side, flinching each time the knife hit the tabletop with a loud  _thud_. Dean put them into a frying pan and poured olive oil over them and flipped the stove on, finding something else to cut.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said softly, and Dean's hands slowed in a hardly recognizable way before he sped up again.

"Can I help?" Castiel asked hesitantly.

Dean didn't answer immediately. "A teaspoon of butter in the pan," he muttered and Castiel nodded and got some butter from the fridge and put it into the pan, watching it melt.

"Stir it," Dean said quietly. Castiel obeyed wordlessly, taking a spoon from one of the drawers, spinning it around as the potatoes sizzled in the oil. Dean added onions.

"I won't do it again," Castiel promised quietly. He didn't really know why he did it in the first place, but to be honest, without Dean, he would have probably gone back. It felt so amazing, it made him happy- But Dean made him happier.

"Am I going to have to have the 'don't talk to strangers' talk with you?" Dean tried to joke, but his voice was still tight, Castiel wasn't sure if he was serious. "No getting into strange people's vans even if they have candy- or should I say drugs for you?"

Castiel busied himself with stirring more than often. He knew Dean was right, had every right to be angry with him. Dean switched the stove off and took the pan from under him, then the spoon. Their fingers brushed. Castiel felt the only one affected. Dean poured the food onto two plates and handed one to Castiel. Castiel didn't want to eat, but he didn't tell Dean that.

They ate in relative silence, and it choked Castiel. He really couldn't eat anything more or he'd feel like he'd have to throw it up so he left the plate half empty and told Dean he was going to go to sleep. He could feel Dean's gaze on him before he shut the door.


	10. Chapter 10

It was all so infuriatingly new, the sounds, the voices, the faces. Everyone spoke to another person that anyone could see, could hear- One may say it was driving Castiel insane, but we've already gotten past that. So he tried his best not to stare too much when he saw people conversing or eating normally; Castiel folded his hands in his lap as Dean bought them both a burger for lunch. His eyes were dazed and distracted. He missed the garden. He missed the bees. But Dean returned before Castiel's thoughts could get too far, caught in a flimsy butterfly net. The sky bent and the world crashed down on him.

Dean was talking, he always talked, but Castiel didn't always have to reply. Soon Dean had a mouthful of food and Castiel took that as his cue to take a bite of the food placed in front of him.

"Good?" Dean mumbled through bites.

It was. Castiel nodded.

Dean smiled and waited to watch Castiel take another bite before he started eating his own again. The sun was out, but the buildings were so tall the sun could only rap on a few windows and break through a glass or two. Streams of light fell onto Dean's cheekbones and wow, he was truly beautiful. He thought he might be staring too long so he stuffed the burger back in his face and got ketchup around his lips as he pulled away. Dean laughed at him. Castiel loved that laugh.

Still, Castiel felt as a daisy, plucked from its garden and thrown into a field of roses. He didn't truly belong. He didn't know how to fit into this broken puzzle. It seemed like all the pieces were already there- How the hell was he supposed to jam himself in somewhere? Castiel stared down his burger, three bites taken out of the thing. He didn't feel like eating. He didn't feel like much of anything, to be honest.

He could feel Dean looking at him calculatingly, eyes flashing with that light he only got when Castiel was sharing something new in a therapy session. Castiel held the burger again and forced another bite down his throat as if it would make him look at least a little more normal. Normal people could eat. He wondered when his lungs would decide he was worthy of the air his body so desperately craved.

Dean was like glue between the spaces of his fingers all throughout the day, and Castiel couldn't decide whether he loved Dean being around so much or if he should be worried if Dean didn't trust him.  _Seriously, who would trust someone who just got out of a mental institution?_  At least it was a voice he could identify as his own. He almost laughed. How many people have this many problems?

They went out to eat. They walked around the city a little bit. Dean showed him around. They went home and did little nothings that never mattered in the end. Castiel could almost forget the world. He wondered if anyone actually sat down. And looked at the hands in their laps. If they thought to themself-  _Wow, I love society, this world, this thing I've been stained into,_ because Castiel sure didn't.

"What'cha thinkin' about?" Dean's voice caught him by the hooks through his heart. He was on a fishing line.

Castiel shrugged. He didn't know how to reply. He didn't quite understand it himself. Was he even supposed to be going through some kind of training to fit into the world? Was he supposed to be preparing for a job to leave Dean's home and find himself one of his own? Was Dean counting down the minutes that Castiel leaves?

"Nothing good," Dean's voice was a knife. A sharp, shining knife. "Your eyebrows," he poked between Castiel's eyes, "shouldn't be all together like that."

They drew together more. Dean visibly bit back a smile. Why did he want to smile?

Castiel shrugged again. It was something he had a habit of doing. Did Dean expect him to say he had absolutely  _no idea_ what he was supposed to be like? That's what he wanted to say. His lips were bloodied and sewn shut.

"All right," Dean sighed and pulled up a chair. He sat in it backwards, arms over the back of it. Castiel was on the sofa of Dean's apartment. Why Dean felt the need to drag a chair from the kitchen to the living room rather than just sit beside him on the sofa, Castiel had no idea. "Spill."

Wasn't he tired of Castiel's complaining? Was it even that? Would it just be easier to check himself back into the hospital?

"Now."

Castiel blinked up at Dean, eyes wide. Dean's gaze was always so intense. It made Castiel want to inch closer and closer and closer. His eyes dropped over Dean's cheekbones.

"I don't know," he eventually said. "I don't know what my purpose is anymore."

"And you think I know mine?" is what Dean replied with.

Castiel gave him a bewildered look. Dean was normal, he was sane, he had his life on a paved road while Castiel climbed flimsy vines in the humid rainforests.

"What did it used to be?" Dean breathed out after a long silence. "You said 'anymore.'"

Castiel looked down at the floor, shoulders rolling in an aborted shrug. "Breathing," he said seriously. What else was there to do?

"Then just breathe."  
"But there's  _so much to do_!" Castiel burst. Castiel's face felt warm, and he didn't really know why. "I mean- Today only, we woke up, ate breakfast, talked, left, walked around, sat and ate lunch, walked around some more, talked  _all throughout that_ , and then came back here- it's  _so much_."

The words came out like water he forgot to swallow, spilling down his chin and soaking his shirt. Once the words were out, he was quiet for a moment. "I-I'd be so lost without you there like I'm your  _pet_ or something. Everything you call easy- I just don't know what to do."

Their breath danced together in the space between them. They felt so close together, like someone was pulling a string to draw them closer and closer- Castiel yearned for a breath he couldn't find. Dean seemed contemplative over what he'd said, almost unaffected by the sway of Castiel's body towards him. Castiel's mind abruptly flashed to the moment they'd kissed. His fingers twitched by his sides. Why did they kiss? Castiel wondered if Dean would ever want to again, if he thought of it as Castiel did. If it meant anything to him.

Oh. They were having a conversation.

"Do what makes you happy," Dean said softly, "What did you do- You said you painted at the hospital?"

Castiel nodded to himself. He did. It was something that kept his mind off things. But they didn't have anything to paint with, paint on in Dean's home. "I don't have any paint," Castiel voiced, "Or canvas."

A wide smile stretched into Dean's face. "Let's go get you some, then!" he announced for the world to hear and hopped up. He didn't move the chair back. He stood by the door by the time Castiel had stood from the sofa. His chest felt so warm, face softened as he glanced at Dean's earnest smile. Why did he care so much? A small smile crawled up Castiel's lips as he followed Dean out the door.

There was definitely something comforting about painting. To feel weight of the paint on the brush, paint thickly onto a white canvas. No one else can see what will become of it, but you can see it, Castiel could see it, and then when he was finished,  _everyone_ could see it. Dean left him alone with the paints and canvas and went into his bedroom. Castiel stared down the white gesso that covered the board, and he picked up the paints. He bought acrylic.

He didn't have any real direction at first. Just get something on there, cover up the disgusting white, the disgusting  _nothingness_. Just white paint on the canvas was so much better than oblivion. Next he poured blue paint into the white and collected a glob onto the flat brush and slung it onto the canvas. He didn't pay attention to the tabletop under it. He vaguely wished for an easel. Maybe some other time.

His eyes dazed out. The world was a blur passing around him and he was still. A single rock in a clear-watered pond. More, more, more, he couldn't stop himself from putting layer upon layer of paint onto the canvas. The colors would smudge and mix together into a murky brown color, and then he'd add yellow, add white, and it was brought upon a new light. He didn't know how long he was painting. Dean had probably came out of his room at one point or two, getting a snack from the kitchen. He didn't stare too long at Castiel's painting-in-progress, like he somehow understood that Castiel would rather him just see the painting when it was finished.

He only stopped when light stopped shining through the window and Dean flicked on an overhead light instead. As if broken out of a trance, he dropped the brush onto the paper plate he was using as a palette, and took a step back, then another, and another. His eyes refocused; he felt as if awoken from a deep slumber.

He felt Dean's presence beside him and a slow intake of air. "Wow," he absently realized Dean was talking. "It's… Really nice."

Castiel blinked at the painting. It was swirls of light blue and in the center a beige, almost dark brown figure with outstretched yellow wings. The figure was a male, that much Castiel could tell, and his face was muddied and hardly painted at all. A yellow ring was around the man's neck as if it was a chain, but was not nearly tight enough to keep him from doing anything. Castiel didn't know how to reply, so he stayed silent.

"Is it an angel?" Dean continued, taking a step closer. "The- That a halo around its neck?"

Castiel nodded dumbly. It had broken out of him. He didn't know where it came from.

"It's really good," Dean repeated.

"Thank you," Castiel mumbled.

"You could probably make money off this, you know," Dean spoke up, "Like if you wanted to sell it. Or sell other things you do. It's- Wow."

Castiel looked at Dean as if the thought had never crossed his mind. "R-Really? I could-"  _Be normal_ , jumped off the edge of the period that held the sentence. This was a type of "normal", right? If he could have some kind of job to function in society?

Dean let out a breathy laugh, "I mean, yeah," he said, a hand raking through his hair. "There are art galleries, shows, museums and stuff, I bet you could get into one."

Castiel nodded quickly. "I could try," he said softly.

* * *

The next day Dean was gone most of the day at the hospital, leaving Castiel alone with six blank canvases and a note on the door reminding him to try to stay in the apartment and a number to call to order pizza if he wanted. He took another canvas, fingers already twitching, muscles tensing. He snapped open a tube of paint and applied to to the canvas directly. Something fired up inside him, ripping away at his organs like a warrior through a jungle. His heart thundered in his chest, red then blue then black on the canvas, covering the edges and adding more blue and red and white as it got to the center. Fuck smooth strokes, Castiel's stroke was erratic and violent as his heart.

He could hardly think, breath going ragged as he threw more paint onto the canvas. He could feel himself shaking and he dragged a large brush over and over and over the paint. He switched to a medium sized brush and grabbed the red again, bright shapes filling out the center.

Something unidentifiable shot up inside him. His entire body was shaking violently, his heart had run wild, he could feel himself starting to cry and still he didn't stop painting. Red, blue, black, repeat. Crosshatching with the brush, he hit and hit upon the canvas for every hit he had denied himself.

" _It's your fault!"_

Red, blue, black-

" _It's all your fault!"_

White, white, red, blue, black, white-

" _You killed her!"_

Cross, hit, smudge, mix, red, blue-

" _I loved her-"_

Black-

" _AND YOU-"  
_ Red-

" _KILLED-"_

Blue-

" _HER!"_

White.

"It wasn't!" Castiel cried to the empty apartment, dropping the brush and falling to his knees. His throat burned with the screams he held back. He let some escape him. "IT WASN'T MY FAULT!"

He cried to himself, on the floor of Dean's apartment, under the table his canvas lay out upon. His hands were red with paint, not blood. He let his tears fall down and clean the pad of his finger.

"It wasn't," he said shakily, as if he were trying convincing himself. "There's- There's  _nothing_ I could have done. It happened, but it- it wasn't my fault."

He shouldn't have left Anna alone. He knows that now. He shouldn't have left an infant in the bathtub with the water running while she was upset and thrashing- He was  _foolish_ , he was a child himself, but without mistakes how will anyone ever learn to grow? No one should stay in the past, glued to one event and let it rip the rest of their entire life to shreds. No one should let that become of their life.

Castiel picked himself up off the ground, dropping the brush onto the table. He'd clean the paint later. His hands trembled and he looked up at the canvas, taking a few steps back. The purple, almost black border faded into a dark plum color, then to red and blue and in the center was a white silhouette of a young girl.

 _Anna_.

* * *

Castiel's hands were tarnished colors his eyes would not see; with eyes dull, he sat as a crumbled tower on the floor of Dean's apartment when the door opened, letting in a stream of light from the streetlights littered like cans on the street. He blinked. There were sounds. Of Dean shrugging off his coat, maybe calling to Castiel that he was home, and then footsteps. Growing louder and louder. Lights flickered on and Dean's silhouette fell over Castiel's back. It was quiet for a few seconds, as if Dean was trying to decide whether or not to speak.

"Cas?" and it was evident he decided to speak. He spoke hesitantly, as if he fully expected Castiel not to reply telling by the state he was in. Had it been anyone else, he would have been upset there was paint splattered all over the floor.

But Castiel said, "Yes?"

More footsteps. Dean walked closer. "You all right?"

Castiel blinked rapidly before he slowly nodded. "I'm.. Fine."

Dean huffed in attempted laughter. "I think we have different definitions of 'fine.'" Castiel almost flinched when he felt Dean's hand drop on his shoulder. "Let's get you cleaned up, Come on," Dean told him and Castiel flew.

If Castiel had ever been drunk, he might be able to relate the haziness, the blurriness and ungroundedness, he may have been able to relate this moment to being drunk. Drugs were different, they provided the pretense of flight while yanking you into another dimension. Being drunk was being buried under the soil you're supposed to walk on. Castiel could not see the sky.

Another light flipped on and Castiel squinted for a few minutes. They were in the bathroom. Water was running, Castiel couldn't remember when it started. Dean may have been talking. Castiel vaguely recognized it, obeyed his commands when he asked him if the temperature was okay (it was), if he needed help with his clothes (he didn't), and if he could take it from here (he didn't want to.)

"Can you stay with me?" Castiel requested, eyes still gazing at nothing. Not the nothing he was so fond of before. He didn't see what he did before. He had woken up from the dream he locked himself in, and, honestly… He wasn't sure if he liked this new reality. Dean was the anchor, the pillow that kept him from falling asleep again and waking up in the other universe with Meg and Balthazar and Gabriel and Samandriel and- the universe with angels. With demons.

Somewhere along the way, Dean had gotten a stool and was sitting by the tub and Castiel was staring at the water running between his fingers, washing him clean of the blood, the paint that coated his sins. He could see them clearly. The water was warm, rising just above his midriff. His knees were dry, legs pulled up not quite to his chest, but almost. Dean asked if he wanted him to wash his hair, and Castiel didn't reply. He felt water over his head and assumed Dean had gone ahead anyways. He liked that about Dean. He was kind, or could read minds, or both.

He closed his eyes and water fell over his eyelids, soapy bubbles following after them. He felt the water trailing down the curves of his face, down his cheekbones and along the bridge of his nose, in the cracks between his lips, and then down his chin. Dean's hands felt firm and comforting tangled in his hair. His eyelids lifted in the slightest and watched the dirty water swirl around him. Castiel mumbled "Thank you," to Dean, and he could hear the smile in his voice when Dean replied, "No problem, man."

The water ripped the tension from his muscles and Castiel fell limp against the tile of the bathroom wall. He didn't want Dean to move away, but he did and the groaning of the drain filled the otherwise silent room. The water drained away and Castiel's flesh yearned for Dean, his head rolled back and he blinked through the water that found itself in his eyelashes. Dean was so much bigger where he stood, holding Castiel's forearm and helping him stand. He wrapped a towel around Castiel's shoulders.

Castiel didn't want Dean to leave to go back to his own room, but he did anyways. Castiel almost laughed. He thought Dean could read minds. He pulled on his clothes and stood motionless, darkness of the room wrapping around his body, hair dripping over his straight face. His hands rose slowly and squeezed the water from his hair, getting droplets of water on his shirt. The desire to be with Dean was burning through him. It was not a want it was a need. He  _needed_ him.

The floorboards did not squeak when Castiel walked across them because this was not a dramatic movie that played on Fridays back at the hospital- as a matter of fact, this was not the hospital at all. Castiel knocked softly on Dean's door, the haze lifting each passing second. Anxiety settled uncomfortably in Castiel's throat; he didn't wait for Dean to answer, and instead opened the door. Dean was on his bed, a queen sized like the one in Castiel's room, and he was typing on his laptop. It looked like the same one in Dean's office at the hospital, and Castiel realized he probably brought it back and forth. Why wouldn't he?

"Cas?" Dean looked up from over the top of the screen, eyebrows pinched together in concern. "Anything wrong?"

Castiel's lips parted and then drew back together again. "I- Could I sleep with you?"

Something flashed over Dean's face so quickly Castiel might have thought he imagined it, but Dean nodded and moved to one side. Castiel's hair was still damp but drying quickly; he got into the bed, sliding next to the eyes that were the sun in his seemingly eternal dark sky. The blankets felt warmer, better. The aching that teared away inside his chest dulled and his hands moved at their own volition, draping an arm over Dean's chest and Castiel laid his head on Dean's shoulder.

Dean seemed to grow tense, but then forced himself to relax. It should have been enough to shock Castiel off, it would have been normally, but Castiel was selfish and took everything Dean left out for the world to see. The clacking on Dean's keyboard resumed and Castiel listened to it like a ballad, watch Dean's hands dance over keys like Swan Lake.

"Am I her replacement?" Dean spoke up after a while, hands stilling.

"Who?" Castiel mumbled, liking the way he could feel Dean's words shake through his body.

"Anna or- Meg- All this affection- I'm replacing them."

"Maybe," Castiel muttered, eyes downcast and fingers running in small patterns over Dean's shirt. "I mean- the hole they left in me- it seems like it's disappearing… In that sense… I suppose you're replacing them," Castiel's words drifted off and heavy silence hung over their heads like sheets of rain. "But you're not her. You're not Anna, you're not Meg either, you never will be, just like they can never compare to you. I- I don't know what this is, what I feel for you, it's  _different_ \- You can't just love someone the same way you love someone else. Friend to friend, lover to lover, you may love them, you may like them, but you can't just feel the same way about everyone. That isn't what it is to be human. All these imperfections, these blemishes, inconsistencies, we wouldn't be ourselves without them. I loved Meg. I loved Anna. I love you, but it's just- It's  _different_. And I don't know what it is."

Dean felt tense under Castiel's tender fingers and Castiel felt regret that he had said something wrong. Dean's hand slid off the keyboard and down to the hand that had stilled over his chest.

"Really?" Dean said softly. "You mean all that?"

"Yes," Castiel's voice was above a whisper. Each return of words would get softer and softer.

"I do, too, you know."

Castiel looked up at Dean through his eyelashes, gaze falling from Dean's eyes to his lips. Castiel's hand moved from Dean's chest to the bed to push himself up farther. His breath ghosted over Dean's lips before their lips touched tentatively.

"Do what?" Castiel whispered and kissed him.

"Love you," Dean breathed, lips parting and moving against Castiel's.

The kiss was innocent, but so much more intimate than the last. They were hidden from anything that might distract them, they were one. The laptop on Dean's lap slid off when Castiel's hip bumped into it, but Dean didn't notice. The breath of Castiel's lungs was pulled away and into Dean's and then back into Castiel's. It was an art, it was a dance, it was  _intoxicating_. Castiel's hands fisted in the sheets, teeth biting Dean's lower lip, he couldn't help the desire that burned away inside him, a spark grown to flame grown to fire.

"Tell me to stop," Dean gasped.

Saliva dripped off Castiel's lower lip as he pulled away. "Why would I do that?"

Castiel's eyes moved down Dean's face; he swallowed. He leaned down and kissed the corner of Dean's mouth, kissing down his jawline and then nipping at the skin just under it. Dean gasped, chest heaving as if he were running.

"Because if I don't stop now I don't think I'll ever be able to," he said, voice wavering.

Castiel's eyes flashed up at him, eyes seeming darker than they were before. "Don't stop," he murmured against Dean's neck and kissed him again.

* * *

Waking in Dean's room felt so different. There was a window by the bed so he woke with the sun. Dean appeared used to it and slept under him. Their legs were tangled together and his skin radiated with warmth. Castiel's eyes fell onto him and never wanted to leave, the beauty raw on his face, unfiltered. The clock by the bed read  _5:23,_ and Castiel didn't know exactly what time Dean woke up, but knew it was sometime before eight. He was always gone when Castiel woke up.

Castiel's hands ran down Dean's side, and he smiled to himself. He placed a kiss under Dean's jaw, then by his ear, and pressed his lips along his neck and shoulder. Dean rolled onto his back and mumbled something intelligibly, eyes fluttering open. His eyes were half-lidded, gazing sleepily down at the man littering his body with kisses.

"Mm," he mumbled, "What'cha doin'?"

"Kissing you."

Laughter rumbled through Dean's body and into Castiel's. "I see that."

Castiel smiled up at him, hand spreading over his bare chest. "What time do you leave?"

Dean groaned and his head leaned back to gaze at the clock. Castiel's eyes watched his adam's apple move up and down as he swallowed.

"Twenty minutes," he groaned as Castiel crawled up his body to lick his throat. "C'mon I already don't want to go, you gonna make me take a sick day?"

"Do you feel sick?" Castiel asked, voice quiet, the kind of quiet he always used when it was just he and Dean. His hand moved up and down his chest, kissing his neck slowly and then down to his collarbones.

Dean let out another groan, whether it was in protest or not, Castiel wasn't sure. His nails dragged down his skin softly and he heard Dean groan again, and this time Castiel felt confident it wasn't in protest.

"I think I have a cold," he teased and his hands dragged through Castiel's hair. "C'mere you."

Dean pulled Castiel up and kissed him softly, smiling against his lips. Dean did end up calling in sick after a few minutes while Castiel watched him from the bed, sitting cross legged, he never really grew out of that habit. The sheets pooled around his legs, pulled up over his crotch. They made breakfast despite Dean's attempts to coax Castiel into another make out session, but he couldn't deny he wasn't hungry either.

They had oatmeal. It was homely.


End file.
